


Barbagallo

by malevolosidade



Series: Barbagallo [1]
Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-24
Updated: 2014-04-05
Packaged: 2018-01-13 14:10:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 33,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1229365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malevolosidade/pseuds/malevolosidade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>2013. A new year, a new record, and rock band Barbagallo is ready for a new tour. There are ups and downs on the road, but what they don't know, however, is that there is room for one more new thing... (Rock band AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Perth

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fill for http://motorskink.livejournal.com/3479.html?thread=1184407#t1184407, a motorskink prompt. It's also, as per the tags, a rock band/musical AU. It goes without saying, but as much as I'd like to see Dan and JEV in a rock band, this has never happened and will never happen. 
> 
> There isn't a single inspiration that I can pinpoint in writing this, but I've got to say I had a great time writing this and I thank the anon who made the prompt back in August - I'm a slowpoke, but I finished it at last, and I hope you enjoy it! :) I tend to listen to a lot of music and I did my best to hopefully capture the feeling of having a band, and I've put some references to real life bands and song lyrics scattered here and there throughout the fic.
> 
> I'd like to thank the very lovely Zera Parker (http://archiveofourown.org/users/zeraparker) for beta-ing this for me, being extremely supportive and full of encouragement with her comments, and everyone who's cheerleaded and kept the mood up while I was writing this, you know who you are. :)
> 
> That's it! Updates will come once a week, and for lack of a better, or more original closing, the show must go on! Enjoy! :D

It’s just the turnabout of the new year, and the fireworks have been deafening: loud and explosive, a rumble not unlike the one they were used to creating in the stage accompanied by smoke and shimmering sparks of all sorts of magnificent colors against the black canvas of the clear night sky. By the balcony, Brendon reaches out and hands Jean-Éric a red plastic cup, filled to the brim with beer, and raises his own in a silent salute wishing a happy new year; Jean-Éric returns the gesture with a grin and takes a swig as the boy jumps away and heads back to the bonfire some feet away.

It’s good, it’s cold, it’s _perfect_.

“Shouldn’t I be getting one of those too?” Dan asks, staring at the cup with greedy eyes; he’s so slouched down the chair his eyes are almost at the same level of Jean-Éric’s flexed arm, his feet leaning on the center table directly across the two-seat they’re sitting on.

“Nope,” Jean-Éric states, letting out a sigh of satisfied appreciation after downing some more beer from the cup. “You’ve got your Bloody Mary or whatever fancy drink it is that you’ve been drinking tonight, you should stick to it.”

Dan shrugs, unfazed. There are a couple of empty glasses of his by the seat’s feet, and he makes a mental retrospective of his drinking exploits over the evening: Bloody Mary, something with vodka, something with whiskey, another Bloody Mary and at least two beers he’s had back when the party was just getting started and he was setting up the bonfire with Brendon and a girl he didn’t remember from before. Yeah, that seems accurate, he decides, and he also decides that he’s not drunk, at least not yet. He’s just _fine_. A third decision comes hot on the heels of the other two, however unrelated to them it is.

He wishes he had his drum kit there with him.

“Fine.”

“Grumpy head.”

Dan shakes his head in disagreement.

“Am not.”

It’s not a lie. He really isn’t; what is actually getting to him is the usual turbulent restlessness that manifested itself whenever he happened to be at the same place for more than a few days. He felt a profound urge to go out, to do things and to explore, to talk, to compose, to play, to sink his teeth into whatever pursuit that both stimulated and made him surge ahead in result, but whenever he had to give it a break, he felt that his energy was being underused, or even worse, accumulating and going to waste. Not that it wasn’t good to go back home, or to see his parents and his old mates, or to give Perth the unduly love it deserved, but this impatience of his was like an itch that never went away, and to have the constant inspiration of the road pulled from under his feet only made it worse.

“If you weren’t you’d be out there, not sitting here,” Jean-Éric states, stretching out an arm to point towards the growing gathering around the bonfire. His lips curve into a sly smile as he takes another sip, feeling Dan’s eyes on him. “Just bugging you a bit, come on.”

“I’m glad we’re getting back on the road, that’s all,” Dan chimes up before silence falls completely, casting his bandmate a sideways glance. “You took too damn long to get your ass back here. I missed you.”

“Possibly because you didn’t want to play with anybody else with while I was in France, yeah.”

“Don’t say that, it’s not true… okay, it is true, a little bit. Don’t get too excited about it though, you’re not that hot.” Dan lowers his eyes, unusually shy in his jesting, while Jean-Éric blinks, his brow furrowed in mild confusion, and laughs. “By the way, I’ve been working on some new music while you were away. Gotta show it to you.”

“You’re unstoppable, aren’t you? I’ll be looking forward for that, yeah, as long as we remember about it tomorrow morning. Or afternoon, I guess. It depends on how much longer we stay up.” Jean-Éric nods lazily; the odd stray firework still pops out and about every once in a while. “Too bad we can’t stay a little longer in Perth.”

Dan’s eyes widen in shock.

“We’ve been in Perth long enough, mate. _It’s time to get going._ ”

“Dan, you shouldn’t let your parents hear that you want to run away as soon as possible, it’ll surely break their heart.” Jean-Éric continues, his tone mischievous. “Plus, you’ve been here longer than I have. I’ve been here for three days-”

“I’ve been here for nearly a month, yeah. Well, more than that, if you count recording. You went home for the holidays, I stayed,” Dan interrupts, pausing to collect his thoughts. “And I don’t want to run away as soon as possible, it’s not like that. I just want… I just want to keep going, I guess. I thought coming back home would be inspiring, but I was surprised. It was, but not to the extent I expected. It’s good to see everyone, and I certainly missed them a lot, but... I wanna keep moving ahead. I’ve been still for too long already.”

Dan’s restlessness had its reason to be: after a successful last leg of shows in New Zealand and Australia to crown their first record’s long tour across the world, they had decided it was time to put together all that they had created, composed and tested out on the road into a cohesive unit, and so they did, settling back down in Perth and going into the studio as soon as possible. That had been five and a half months ago; their sophomore record was eventually mixed, mastered, packaged and ready to be released the upcoming week. _Rocketing into the new year in full blast_ was their proposition, and after working on each song and whittling away the edges, they knew it was one that matched their intent.

“Your wish is about to be granted, if you can do the sacrifice of spending a few more days here.” Dan punches Jean-Éric’s upper arm at that; it’s a playful one, but packed with strength nonetheless. “Ow! Fine, fine. Here, have some beer and calm down. Come on, it’s close enough now, surely you can handle a few more days here. The road awaits and it’s gonna be a long, winding one.”

Jean-Éric hands the cup to Dan.

“Nice, mate, there’s nothing but foam left here,” Dan complains, peeved, squinting into the cup. “I don’t mind that the road is going to be long and winding, I’m ready for it. Don’t tell me that you aren’t too.”

“I am, yeah,” Jean-Éric admits, his tone sincere. He longs for it too, just as much as Dan does, but in a more subdued manner. “I miss the stage, the touring, the whole experience. But sometimes it’s good to let the dust settle down a little before picking up your gear and going ahead. We did that already, we have new material, we got plenty of dates booked already, and now we can go on.” He frowns, realizing Dan’s still giving him an unsatisfied look. “Okay, now you’re sulking at me and it’s bad form to start the new year tangled in a silly spat with you over beer of all things. So I’m gonna go over there and get you one, that’s what I’m gonna do.”

He gets up and jumps over Dan’s stretched legs, dodging the forgotten glasses as he goes. The wooden steps croak and creak when he steps on them, and he’s already almost on the sand, about to take the last step, when he turns back around, hastily climbing back the stairs and peering around the white wall to find Dan shaking his head as he drums along to a melody that, for now, is only alive inside that fertile mind of his.

“Hey, Dan!”

“What?”

“Happy new year!”

Dan drops his imaginary drumsticks and grins widely, suddenly in high spirits again.

“It’s gonna be our year, mate, I can tell!” He shouts back as Jean-Éric disappears from his view again. “Happy new year, JEV!”

 _Ah, what the hell_ , Dan thinks as another round of fireworks blaze out from the beach, their sound and color washing over the drab white walls of the balcony and his own darkened features. Something lights up inside of him, as if every single thing had fallen into place and decided to make sense in that exact moment. Doesn’t he have anything to live for? He does indeed, and he’s only doing the precise thing he hates the most, stashing himself away from action for no apparent reason. He’s wrong, he’s got the energy, and he has to get on the move to spend it the way it should be properly spent. 

_The momentum’s all out there, and I’m going to be a part of it._

He’s quick to get to his feet, trailing down the stairs the fastest he can, towards the beach and the sea, towards the bonfire and the catherine wheels, towards Jean-Éric and the people and the promise of the endless commotion so greatly valued by him.


	2. Perth, pt. 2

Fifteen days later, Jean-Éric is sitting in the lobby of the building Dan lives, all decked out in the only decent pair of jeans he still has, sneakers that have seen better days and an old black T-shirt which had been used so many times it was turning a worn down shade of grey instead, a pair of sunglasses hanging from its collar. He did have better clothes, gifts he had gotten for Christmas, but he’d rather wear them later, during the tour itself, and to get them torn, thrashed and wrung out just the way he liked. So they were all hastily packed into his old luggage, loaded onto the back of the rented van, and for him, that’s when getting to the road truly became reality, an actual event he could touch and experiment on. It was one thing to plan ahead, make the phone calls, book the dates, rent the equipment, and so on; another thing was for the fated day to roll around at last, to pack up knowing for the remainder of the year he would not have a fixed address to give anymore, and to feel perfectly comfortable with that.

Just the way he liked it.

He had parked in front of the building about half an hour before, and had given up on waiting for Dan inside the sweltering van. It was good to learn in advance that it took too long to actually begin cooling down, and so he climbed out of the driver’s seat to wait outside; it seemed like a good idea at the time, but summer was at its height in Perth, all cloudless skies and hot weather, and soon he regretted the decision. Luckily for him, he still remembered the electronic gate password from one too many nights spent at Dan’s involved in an assorted array of activities, and once inside the lobby he’s thankful he can actually wait without risking to melt under the heat he had never gotten used to.

Another thing Jean-Éric should have already gotten used to long ago was Dan’s tendency to be late for any and every single appointment that did not involve setting foot on a stage, but well, hope springs eternal.

His cell phone suddenly vibrates and pings in his back pocket.

Raising an eyebrow, he pushes a button on its side to turn on the screen and types down the password; on the top left, there’s an icon, and he has to resist the urge of rolling his eyes after dragging down the screen bar and reading it.

_Just got a tattoo!!!_  
 _Stings like hell, but it’s so so so damn wicked!_

Jean-Éric is in the middle of coming up with an adequate answer that does not involve a lot of swearing, trying to decide whether he should ask about what exactly came over him to go out and get a tattoo hours before beginning the trip to their first gig of the tour instead of any of the previous days in which their activities could be summed up as rehearsing, rehearsing and then some more rehearsing, or where is the tattoo parlor so he can pick him up there, or something, _anything_ along those lines of mildly irritated thinking when the phone pings again in his hand. Another message flashes in the screen, a speech balloon-shaped rectangle pushing the former further up.

It’s a picture.

Jean-Éric taps it open and his eyes widen when it zooms to life.

A shot of Dan’s back comes straight at his face in all of its tanned, naked glory; it’s close enough that he doesn’t see much further down than the dip of his lower back, but there’s still a lot to be seen, broad shoulders and spotless skin and mild swelling around the words trailing down the hollow curve of his spine. He takes his time to read it, not that there’s a lot to be read -- _if they try to slow you down, tell them all to go to hell_ , simple enough that there’s no need to linger around trying to decipher its meaning, simple enough that it sounds like the exact kind of thing Dan would get tattooed -- and when his eyes glance back up and he zooms it in, he realizes with a growing flush on his cheeks and a dry throat he’s not really doing so to get a better view of the words.

He pretends it is, though, because it’s easier that way.

The messages flood the screen, ping after ping.

_I couldn’t sleep last night but then BANG_  
 _Everything made sense!!!_  
 _Made the design myself_  
 _Good thing Brendon knew this guy_  
 _:D :D :D_

Dan’s enthusiasm is enticing, easy to get swept up in even in written word, but since he’s already pretending there’s nothing more to his detailed inspection of Dan’s photo than mere curiosity, it’s easy to go on and also pretend he’s not feeling the tiniest sting of jealousy due to the fact that _Brendon_ was the one that got to go along Dan’s little adventure down to the tattoo parlor, or that it was _Brendon_ who found out first hand he wanted to get a tattoo done. There isn’t really anything wrong with Brendon: he’s a handful of selfless help and support, he’s practically an unofficial member of the band, he’s been friends with Dan even before Jean-Éric had moved to Perth; it makes sense that it’s him there, it really does, or so he keeps telling himself. He’s not jealous, nope, he is not. He curls his fingers, bracing himself to not give a cutting reply, and gives the photo a last glance before closing it once and for all and returning to the chat screen.

_Where r u? I’ll go pick u up_  
 _Otherwise we’re gonna be late_  


_R u at my place?_  
 _Stuff’s all packed up already_  
 _Just gotta throw it in the back of the van and I’m good to go_  
 _Whaddya say lunch afterwards?_  


_Yeah been here for the past 40 minutes_  
 _‘Cause we had agreed to meet here_  
 _Or so I thought :P_

_Chill mate it’s early :P_  
 _Gimme 15 and we’ll be there_  


_Fine._

He’s about to pocket the cell phone again, a dissatisfied sigh escaping his lips and his pretense still held high in the air when it pings once more, almost as an afterthought.

_U should get a tattoo too!!!_  
 _Like, a matching one!_  


_Matching tattoos are for couples, Dan_  
 _We’re not married_  


_Hahahahahaha_  
 _Yet you mean_  
 _We’re not married yet ;D_  
 _There’s a whole tour ahead of us_  
 _Hang tight!_  


Jean-Éric can’t help but wonder whether the comment about having a whole tour ahead of them was in relation to getting a tattoo or getting married, and it doesn’t take him too long to realize that not only is it too early in the day to be actually giving it any semblance of serious thought to that, he’s also too sober to even consider either possibility. He shakes his head in disbelief at himself for attempting to make sense out of yet another ludicrous remark from Dan; it never really stopped him from pondering the things he said because his mind ran with them far too easily, but six years of near daily coexistence should have taught Jean-Éric that he couldn’t quite take everything Dan said too seriously.

_Six years_ , he muses, temporarily pushing away the tattoo and the wedding and everything else to farther corners of his mind. _Has it really been that long_?

It has.

Six years ago, he still thought his career would turn out to be a mostly traditional one. Six years ago, he had finished his first year of university back in France, in a field he had always excelled at, which was Mechanical Engineering, and playing the guitar was the sort of thing he only did as a hobby, over the weekends, whenever he needed to make some quick cash. He did love music, of course he did, as he still does, but he was honest then as he is honest still: he never thought he was the best singer around, or even the most talented musician. He liked things raw, quick, straight to the point, and that’s how he played, like sharp lightning foretelling summer rain.

He never thought much of it, but eventually the idea of a change of scenery and continuing his studies somewhere else presented itself to him. He played the cliché to a tee, as one sometimes does, and spun a globe around, eyes shut and finger pointing out. First, it stopped in the middle of the sea, which would be an impracticable endeavor to say the least, then his finger pointed at a small cluster of islands he wasn’t entirely sure to be inhabitable. Deciding that’d be his last try, as the third one’s the charm, he spun it again, deciding it was this or nothing.

Australia it turned out to be, and Australia it was.

Now, Jean-Éric never believed in fate, or that there was such a thing as coincidence, or that events were meant to be. It’s all bullshit, he still thinks, it doesn’t make any sense that everything has already been determined and people are simply following down a set path in the same way a needle follows the groove in a record. Everyone has the power in their hands to make their own life the way they want to, and that’s what he did: he applied for a scholarship, he gathered his belongings and the money he had, said goodbye to the life he knew and set out to create a new one on the other side of the world. His scholarship was in Perth, in the University of Western Australia, and he still refuses to believe fate played a part when he decided, after some deliberation, to attend one of the several parties thrown to welcome the new students during the first week of classes.

It might not have been the best party he had ever been to, but the beer wasn’t too bad and the music wasn’t too terrible; that was enough for him. Hours dwindled away between stringy guitar riffs coming out of the loudspeakers and a colorful host of all sorts of people out and about, talking loudly and carrying plastic cups full to the brim of whatever drink they wished to, and if there was any obscure intent to the night, it was certainly met as he had the chance to talk to anyone he wished to. Tiredness eventually got the best of him, aided by the languidness only copious drinking leads to, and he eventually found himself in a corner having a pile of jackets and coats for company, the party showing no signs of winding down any time soon. Throwing his head back against the yellowing wallpaper, he was intently studying the blinking Christmas lights hung on the wall, attempting to sync them to the music to no avail, when _someone_ bopped down by his side.

“Hey! D’ya know the name of the party?”

“What?”

“D’ya know the name of this, of this welcoming party?” he shouted again over the musical ruckus, leaning closer to Jean-Éric’s ear. It doesn’t quite work; he might have been louder, but he’s also _faster_ the second time, and thick-accented to boot.

“The name of what?”

“The party!” He gave a wide, lopsided grin and extended a hand out as the song currently playing stumbles towards its uncertain end. “It’s Walk on the Wild Side! The Walk on the Wild Side Welcoming Party! I picked the name, I got that honor, my friend’s the one who got this running. I was supposed to play the drums with him tonight but he’s got a new girlfriend and he’s dropped me, the wanker! He says she’s a better drummer than me, but I think he’s just saying that ‘cause he gets hearts for eyes every time he’s around her!” He giggled, rolling his eyes at his friend’s apparent silliness.

“Was Lou Reed the reference?” Jean-Éric noted, quick to append the train of thought. “For the name of the party and for getting you to play an instrument, I mean.”

Suddenly, a spark of something flickered in the other boy’s eyes, and Jean-Éric was pretty sure it had nothing to do with the bare lighting of the room.

“Of course, mate. Brian Eno was right, you know.”

“That everyone who’s bought a copy of _Velvet Underground & Nico_ started a band?”

“Yeah, absolutely.”

“Well, did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Start a band?”

He shot Jean-Éric a somewhat bashful, resigned grin.

“Yeah, I did, but the bands I started never got off the ground. Oh well. The intent was definitely there and I had fun for as long as they lasted. I did the respectable thing and started university last year, but music’s still a big part of my life.”

Jean-Éric had been trying to place him since the beginning of the conversation, the curly hair and the beard a sight he was sure to have seen somewhere before, but it’s only when the university was mentioned that it clicked.

“You’re from UWA, right?”

“Yeah! Mechanical Engineering’s my trade. Got to be here though, there are all those new kids looking for a purpose, and here’s some purpose we’re giving them tonight. I’m Daniel, but everyone just calls me Dan ‘cause they’re lazy or ‘cause it’s easier, your guess is as good as mine.” He sized Jean-Éric up. “I think I’ve seen you in class. You’re not from here, are you?”

“I’m not, I’m from France. I’m on a scholarship. I’m Jean-Éric.”

“Wow, France!”

Dan was so astonished that Jean-Éric almost thought he was being mocked for it.

“Why is that so surprising?”

“Nothing, mate, it’s just real far, and we don’t get that many exchange students on scholarships, let alone from France! It’s really cool though, hope you’re enjoying the city!” He cocked his head to the side. “It’s too loud in here, and while I love noise, it’s not easy on the throat after having to yell so much. Y’wanna go outside? We’ll get beer on the way out.”

Not even fate would dare to play such a trick on them.

A conversation that began about the city turned into one about the nightlife, and the one about the nightlife quickly turned back to the one about music, and by then there really was no possibility of either cutting it off or paying any attention to the surroundings. It was the beginning of a new year and the beginning of a new journey, but it was also the beginning of a future completely unknown and, to that point, completely inconceivable to him. The thing was, talking about music always got him geared up, and he hadn’t talked so _profoundly_ about it in a long time. His friends in France weren’t really into all the different genres Jean-Éric liked to either listen or consider himself truly influenced by, so that sort of conversation was uncommon enough that Jean-Éric couldn’t even remember the last time he’d had one of those with anyone, stranger or acquaintance alike; now, however, the simple act of reeling off bands and influential records was accordingly met with approval or disdain from Dan, who contributed to the conversation as energetically and excitedly as he did, and he is warming up to his new life far more easily than he expected.

Next thing he knew, it was almost daybreak and he found himself riding the back seat of Dan’s old spluttering motorbike on their way to the campus. Then, they were exchanging phone numbers and agreeing to meet the next day after class, and the meeting during the next day turned into a third meeting two days later, and then another one where Dan showed up at Jean-Éric’s room in Currie Hall with a wrapped bottle of whiskey in one hand, a box containing a portable gramophone in the other and an armful of vinyls from all sorts of Australian punk bands from the 70s in his backpack. They talked about the university, and Dan talked about his fanciful dream of a career in motorsport; not quite having the connections, all he had was a great love for all things motorized born from when he first drove a kart as a kid.

Because he had to mention the karting, Jean-Éric had to mention his dad owned a karting circuit, that he had done plenty of racing back home and even won a couple of championships when he was a boy, and that France was clearly superior in motorsport; the latter part of the comment was meant to be tongue-in-cheek, but Dan was not convinced of its mockery at all, and bravely defended his nation’s efforts between records and shots of whiskey. Jean-Éric did his part in praising the conquests of his country, gently ribbing Dan all the while, but what really mattered then was that they had found another point of concord in their fondness for motorsport; a few more of those, scattered between authors, films and interests were uncovered as the hours passed. Soon, Jean-Éric found that he had found a good companion in Dan, and they became inseparable.

Inseparable enough that the nights became endless and whenever Jean-Éric called, it didn’t matter if Dan had already gone to bed, or if he was studying, or anything of the sort; he’d just drop everything and run out to whatever scheme he had in mind and off they’d go swimming through the sea of people downtown, discovering everything that the city and the night offered to themselves without hesitation. Inseparable enough that every once in a while, after a long week at university, or a stressful time for one reason or another, they sat together in Dan’s apartment or in whatever studio in the School of Music that happened to be empty and jammed together, playing from mclusky to The Replacements and everything in between, risking an improvisation here and there, getting to know the strengths and weaknesses of each other in their simplest, rawest forms.

Inseparable enough that one Friday, right after the second term exams are over, it was Dan that called Jean-Éric this time, asking him to get down to his apartment and bring his guitar along, because there was something he wanted to ask him, and it couldn’t be asked at any other time.

“Okay, so it’s not really a question, it’s more like an actual affirmation,” Dan said once Jean-Éric arrived, the stickered, battered case slung over his shoulder. Dan’s drum kit was set up in a corner, and he has already guessed what Dan was about to propose once his eyes landed on it. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while and I think we should do this together.”

“You think we should have a band?”

“I’m one hundred percent sure we should, yeah!”

“We don’t have anything, we’ll need to write songs, we’ll need to find a lead singer, it’s not going to be easy,” Jean-Éric began, and it’s not that he didn’t like the idea, _he did_ , he liked it more than he would be willing to admit, he just wasn’t too sure about its viability. “Don’t get me wrong, Dan, I’d like to-”

“You’d like to, I’d like to, so let’s go, let’s do it!” Dan enthused. His eyes glimmered, laced with determination that was almost palpable, determination so hardened inside himself that it seemed to have been there forever, and yet it made him look even younger. “Don’t look at me like this, JEV, we’ll come up with everything. We’re gonna hit it big. Time’s ticking away and we’re not getting any younger. This is our time, come on.”

Jean-Éric paused a moment to take it into consideration. He’s always been the analytical one, the one that thinks things over; Dan is the emotional one, the one who throws himself headfirst into endeavors. There’s the future that’s been somewhat planned out for themselves, humdrum to an extent but safe nonetheless, and then there’s the nuance of another future, a complete interrogation shaded in inklings of notions and ideas. There’s what’s been done to exhaustion and what’s yet to be realized, there’s the unknown and an outlook that could either soar magnificently or fail spectacularly, and there’s the tradition and the prospect of sure-fire success. Then again, Jean-Éric reckoned, he was never quite one for tradition and stability in the first place.

If he was, he’d never have gone south; if he was, he’d never met Dan.

“Alright, let’s do this. But we _have_ to make this happen.”

“Let’s get started, then,” Dan said, a wide grin spreading across his lips as he grabbed his drumsticks and twirled them between his fingers. It didn’t sound urgent, but it was; time pressed on. “We’ll sleep when we’re dead.”

That turned out to be an accurate summation of their philosophy regarding their approach to making music; six years later and two full records, four EPs, a fistful of singles and more shows and supporting tours than Jean-Éric’s able to remember, he can safely say they did it, they made it happen. It might have demanded plenty of hard work, but it only made sense as they never truly expected it to be easy. They took to the task of setting up their shows themselves, after they had enough material to begin playing in front of crowds: they’d arrange the space to play, they’d rent the PA equipment, they’d design and distribute their own flyers, and had friends helping in running the show. No fuss, no further elaboration, nothing: it was all made by themselves, a full hands-on approach that could be troublesome but soon turned out to be the best decision for them.

In no time their band began to gain a reputation around the city and surroundings: the band with the energetic, raw, no-nonsense gigs, the band that had a drummer and a guitarist sharing vocal duties because the search for a suitable vocalist hadn’t panned out, the band that jokingly described their style as _motorsport rock_ because ultimately, it’s no wonder that what they love seep through the lyrics and the sounds they create; ultimately, motorsport is about as big a part of the band as everything else. Fame began to make the rounds, and when fame began to make the rounds, it was time to brainstorm a proper band name. At first the band had two or three names that they were still hoping to choose one from, but the name eventually picked was neither of those.

“Scarecrows on a Killer Slant.”

“What?”

“The band, we should name it Scarecrows on a Killer Slant.”

“No, we shouldn’t.”

“Why not, it’s hardcore, it’s raw. It’s what a rock band should be called.”

“It’s a bit barmy, Dan. And by a bit, I mean a lot.”

“What do you suggest, then?”

“ _Anything_ but Scarecrows on a Killer Slant.”

“I get it, you don’t want to name it that ‘cause it’s too badass for you.”

Jean-Éric rolled his eyes, exasperation taking over. They had been at that for the past three hours, pages and pages covered with names crossed out in red crumpled around their sprawled forms laying on Dan’s apartment floor. Writing lyrics hadn’t been that hard or taken that long; composing had been far easier, and even the title of the first EP had been decided to be named after James Hunt, one of their favorite Formula One drivers. The songs had already been picked, recording was set to start the next day, everything _was_ ready to go, except now they had hit a niggle, and it was one that so far had them butting heads at every turn.

“It’s not badass, it’s stupid.”

“Now you’re just being mean,” Dan retorted, his voice sincerely hurt.

Jean-Éric glanced at his profile, the pursed lips and the furrowed brow, and frowned.

“I’m sorry, Dan, I didn’t mean to.” He tiredly sighed, rubbing his face and eyes with both hands. “I just don’t think it’s a good name for a band, that’s all.”

“Nah, ‘s okay, mate. No offense taken.” Dan shook his head sympathetically. “Maybe we should think it over a bit more, maybe it doesn’t need to be that hardcore.”

“We could always rely on motorsport, I guess. It worked for the EPs, something’s bound to come out of it,” Jean-Éric tried, shrugging. “It’s an idea.”

They threw around a couple more ideas unrelated to motorsport at first, but wound up coming back to it nonetheless; eventually, they settled down on Barbagallo, after the circuit some 30 miles from Perth. It sounded spunky and suggested the same notion of eagerness and youthful energy they hoped their music would give off, and even with Dan cracking that maybe they should wear overalls and helmets to the stage, they were both fully satisfied with it and declared the matter settled. However, Jean-Éric did not resist a last quip before burying the hatchet on the subject once and for all.

“I’ve got something to ask. Were you planning to suggest we dressed as scarecrows had we picked the other name?”

It was Dan’s turn to roll his eyes, throaty laughter echoing as he punched an equally amused Jean-Éric in the upper arm.

Recording and selling their records, along with an increased number of gigs in other cities around the country, whether on their own or opening for other bands, made their enterprise a serious one. Not that it wasn’t serious before, but now, more than serious, it was real. They spent the year juggling university and gigs, separating time to study for exams and to rehearse and record sessions, all at once, barely stopping and using up all the time they had. It was tiring, but it paid off. Now, people actively bought their records, attended the gigs and wrote reviews about those, the better part of them positive, and while that was always the aim, they still found their steadily growing fame unbelievable. By then, 2009 had drawn to an end, a second EP titled after Niki Lauda had been released, and just before Jean-Éric went back home for the holidays, Dan wanted to talk to him.

“I’m not enrolling at UWA next year,” he said, his tone completely calm, taking a long sip from his bottle of water. They were sitting by the shore, feet digging into the pale sand, the sun dipping behind the sea in a colorful display of light in front of them. “I thought you should know before you go.”

“It’s happening, isn’t it?” Jean-Éric asked, even if he already knew the answer.

Dan glanced at him, eyebrows knitted, and nodded.

“I want the band to be a full time thing. _Our_ full time thing.” Jean-Éric stared ahead, turning Dan’s words in his head. It’s not something they’re entirely used to, finding such a thick, wordless silence wrapped around themselves; there’s always some sound, there’s always a laugh or a word or notes being played, there’s always a way to communicate. Not this time: there were only the languishing lull of the sea, the sound of children running and shouting at each other nearby and the crowing of the seagulls. There was not a lot left for Jean-Éric to make up his mind, and soon he chimed up.

“We can take a leave of absence, I guess. If it doesn’t work out, we come back. There’ll be only one year left to go, after all.” Jean-Éric might have said that out loud, but intimately he repeated, far more intently, what he already was sure of: even if they wanted to, they wouldn’t come back.

There was no turning back now.

“Yeah, we can.” Dan nodded absently, and he didn’t need to say anything else for Jean-Éric to realize he agreed with the impossibility of going back to their previous life.

Luckily for them, they never had to.

2010 saw them recording their debut album, _Eau Rouge_ ; at first, it’s released only in Australia in April, but one of the tracks plucked from it for promotion, Silhouettes, is awarded a Best New Track designation by none the other than Pitchfork Media. That was enough to expose the band to a much larger audience, but their surprise did not end there: soon afterwards, they got a Best New Music designation from them, along with a raving review praising their reckless abandon, energy and rawness, and that’s when they realized things had taken a sharp upturn. They were subsequently signed to Panther Dash Records in June and two months later, the album was released worldwide.

That was when it truly blew out of control.

Riding in the crest of more positive reviews, the tour ended up being a never ending one of sorts, spanning and sprawling itself between 2010 and 2011. Not that they minded; in a way, it’s all they had dreamed of, and there was so much to take in, to learn and to take heed of, so much to see and experience that it was all a joy to be taken in, even if sometimes they only spent no more than a couple of days in a city. It’s more than enough for them, and yet it was still tinged with the odd feeling of sadness; they met new people but it was always so brief, so fleeting it’s almost a blink of the eye and nothing else. Each city was a snapshot of sound, of scent and sight, and just as they were about to capture the spirit of the city, it was time to leave.

They were made to move, and so they moved.

They never stopped moving.

“Quit your weeping, son, I’m here.”

It’s more the smack to the back of the neck than the murmured words themselves that shake Jean-Éric out of the trip down memory lane he had comfortably digressed into; when he flings an arm behind himself, trying to hit Dan back, he’s already circled around the two-seat sofa in a fluid motion to stand in front of Jean-Éric, all coy smiles and crossed arms around the chest as he leans in, all knee-length frayed shorts and a sleeveless, torn Joy Division shirt he seems to recognize as having belonged to himself at some point before.

Except it had sleeves, and it wasn’t ripped and holed around the edges, and it was new when it still belonged to him.

“I haven’t seen that shirt in ages, I should have guessed it’s yet another shirt you have taken for _customization_ ,” he states, emphasizing the words, not entirely amused by the appropriation but unwilling to admit the twinge of _something_ unraveling at the bottom of his stomach at the realization that yeah, that shirt used to belong to him but it doesn’t anymore. Now it’s _on Dan_ , now it _belongs_ to him, now it’s got Dan twined all through its ragged fabric and he can’t quite explain how restless that makes him, but it does. It wasn’t the only thing Dan had gotten a hold of, but the less said about that, the better it was. “I should ask it back but I know it’ll be of no use.”

“You barely wore it, ‘twas all there for the taking,” Dan reasons, as if that was the most obvious thing in the world, and scratches his forehead with a thumb. “Not to mention it looks much better on me, too!”

_It really does, I can’t argue with that_ , Jean-Éric thinks. Were this happening not too long ago, he’d have said it out loud but now it’s easier, it’s far easier to just shake his head to dispel the thought as quickly as it forms so it doesn’t get the chance to throw himself into further mental disarray in front of Dan.

“See? No use asking,” Jean-Éric says, throwing his hands up as if in defeat. “Let’s get your gear down, come on. We got a long way to go.”

“I left the key under the front door rug, like I always do,” Dan notes. “You know, for someone who has a toothbrush on my bathroom sink and plenty of clothes in the spare bedroom you sure act like you’re a complete stranger to my apartment sometimes.”

He’s got a point, and his grin grows wider because of that.

“I thought you had taken it with you,” Jean-Éric retorts, getting up, “although even if you hadn’t, I sure as hell wasn’t going to do all the hard work by myself.”

“Ah yeah, I forget you’re _oh-so-sensitive_ to carry things around-” Dan’s cut off by Jean-Éric’s glare, but grins nonetheless. Getting Jean-Éric to the point of exasperation, however playful exasperation it is, is one of his favorite pastimes, he has to admit. “Fine, let’s get to it before you figure out a way to decapitate me in the elevator. Don’t wanna get killed right before the tour starts, I can't drum without my head on. Let’s go.”


	3. São Paulo

The first leg of the tour kicks off successfully, gigs as bountiful as the scorching heat and the long stretches of road traveled out and about as they go, from town to town and gig to gig. It’s the usual flurry of sound and light they are used to, and audiences that do not disappoint at all as they come and go. If their performances were already energetic, they’re even more so when the audience is responsive, and this time, the reception is overwhelming on their home turf; the end result is explosive. Broken drumsticks were not unheard of before, but they ran into trouble after breaking two microphone stands during the same gig, and Dan somehow managed to tear the drumheads of his tom-toms on the final show of the leg.

By the end of March, the whole of Australia and New Zealand are properly traveled back and forth, properly dissected and made theirs, properly examined and experienced. Their five Big Day Out gigs were probably its highest point, the crowds chanting and clapping along to each and every song played, and the emotional value of returning to the very first festival they had played gave them a sense of completion they hadn’t felt before; it was undeniable, however, that smaller venues had their own electric quality, their feverish excitement and greater sense of proximity to the fans that they found even more appealing. Getting to talk to the fans that lingered around post-show was not unheard of before either, and there were even occasions everyone went out for a well deserved round of drinking somewhere.

Jean-Éric prefers the smaller shows but doesn’t really mind the larger ones; however, as their flight is about to land in São Paulo, where a set in its own edition of Lollapalooza is to start the tour’s second leg in three days, he can’t shake off a feeling he’s not entirely used to, and doesn’t like the feeling at all, especially not when it’s so close to a show.

He’s scared.

By his side, Dan’s the usual bouncing ball of giggling happiness, ignoring the flight captain’s statements over the PA system to tweet away in a confusing mix of Portuguese and Spanish about the upcoming shows. He’d been suspicious there was something going on with Jean-Éric, something _very wrong_ at that, and it’s confirmed when he makes no mention that Dan’s phone should be turned off and it’s Brendon, sitting on the seat across them, that does instead.

“Something’s clearly not right. You haven’t been bugging me about anything lately, not even about being late to the flight, or about misplacing my passport, or even about this,” Dan remarks, waving the cell phone before saving it in his jeans’ pocket. Jean-Éric doesn’t reply, and Dan doesn’t really understand why or what could be so troublesome that he seems almost shrunken into the seat, arms hanging limply by his sides. “You sick or something?”

“No, I…” Jean-Éric begins uncertainly, somewhat disconcerted by the question, before trailing off. “I’m not. Not at all, no.”

“It doesn’t take a genius to see you’re not okay. Hell, even I’ve noticed it,” Dan states, pausing for a moment as the plane slows down the tarmac, appearing to account the possibilities for Jean-Éric’s sullenness in his head. “I reckon it’s not fear of flying, and you’re not sick. So, what’s up?”

“I’m- I think I’m getting some sort of stage fright this time around,” he blurts out, and when he hears what he says and sees the astonished face Dan makes, he feels his ears burning in embarrassment and the weight that had been mostly resting in the pit of his stomach churning uncomfortably again. “Okay, I know it sounds stupid, but it’s taken a hold of me, I can’t help it. We’ve never been to South America, we shouldn’t have started right off the bat playing at a festival. We should have had a couple smaller gigs first, get to feel how’s the audience, you know the works.”

“Oh, JEV, is this what’s troubling you?” Dan coos sympathetically, his eyes gentle as he stares at Jean-Éric. “It’ll all turn out just fine. We’ll win them over with our dazzling charisma and solid tunes, you’ll see, and it’s not like we have zero fans here either. Plus, it’s about time we played in South America, given we’ve been pretty much everywhere else. It’s the final frontier. It’ll be _muy divertido_!”

Jean-Éric doesn’t look like the most convinced person in the world after hearing those arguments, and even Dan’s bubbly disposition drops down a few notches at his dejection. He opens the overhead compartment and hands Jean-Éric his backpack before getting his own and slinging it over his shoulders.

“C’mon, this isn’t you.” Dan tries again, undeterred. “Where’s your confidence?”

“I think I left it behind in Perth, or it’s gone hibernating, I’m not sure,” Jean-Éric intones, reclining in his seat with a tired smile. He feels empty all of a sudden, his limbs lax, his mind still feverish in its task of anticipating all kinds of horrible thoughts involving the upcoming performance. It’s already become a vicious circle in the brief two or three days since its shadow has given to stalking him day and night: he feels terrible that he’s giving those thoughts too much attention and the thoughts keep expanding in fits and starts because he’s unable to get rid of them; then, he doesn’t sleep well, he doesn’t eat well, and it’s like he’s heading towards a trainwreck he can’t avoid or stop.

Dan pouts wryly; Brendon pokes a curious head over his shoulder.

“What’s up with him?”

"He’s chickening out a little, that’s all,” Dan says flippantly, maybe _too flippantly_ for Jean-Éric’s taste; Dan doesn’t see it as he’s trailing after Brendon in the line forming to leave the plane, but behind him Jean-Éric’s face hardens even more in response, his frustration transformed into momentary rage. The set is going to happen nonetheless and he knows it, he’s just overwhelmingly, _unusually_ anxious about this specific gig, about the festival and the audience as well. It’s a rarity for him to be assaulted by such inadequate feelings, but they’re there for a reason, and it hurts more than he likes to admit that Dan, of all people, is making light of it.

He doesn’t say anything else until they’re waiting for their luggage.

“I really wish you weren’t joking about it, Dan,” he grumbles, genuinely annoyed about the circumstances, his frame hunched over the luggage cart and his arms crossed over its handle. “What if the set turns out to be a failure?”

“JEV, calm down, it won’t be a failure,” Dan reassures him. “Don’t be scared. I know this is all new for us, places we’ve never been before, audiences we’ve never played to. We’ve got to go out there and show them what we’re made of. That we’re good, that we believe in the music we make. Give our best, like we always do.” 

Jean-Éric takes a deep breath.

“Now, mate, it’s time to stop making that face,” Dan continues, and Jean-Éric is about to say something mildly dismissive because while his bandmate has a point, he doesn’t want to talk about it any longer, at least not for the rest of the day; he’s about to say that it’s okay, that he feels a little better already and that it’s been a long flight, that’s why he’s making whatever face it is that Dan thinks is a bad one, but his brain suddenly blacks out when Dan’s fingers clutch one of his hands and he gives him an encouraging grin to match. “Everything will be alright, I promise!”

Dan sounds and looks like a hopeful child doing whatever he can to make sure there’s nothing to be afraid of, and it’s so candidly endearing it’s hard not to listen and take those words to the heart; then, there’s the fact his fingers are a warm enclosure around his hand, about as supportive as what he has just said. Soft to the touch, too, softer than he remembered them being before, and that’s when he notices he’s blushing, he’s openly blushing in broad daylight in front of Brendon and God, _he’s blushing like a lovesick teenager in front of Dan himself just because he's clasping his hand_. He feels stupid, but doesn’t pull his hand away, and neither does Dan, for that matter; it lingers just maybe a second longer than it should, something Jean-Éric notices nonetheless.

“Just so we’re clear, I’m not chickening out at all, okay,” he murmurs once Dan pulls away, face still burning. “I’m not.”

“I know you’re not, JEV. I’m sorry about that,” Dan says, guilt apparent in his voice. Jean-Éric shouldn’t have heard him saying that at all, it was uncouth of him and uncalled for, even if he meant it as a joke to lighten things up. He lets out a hum before tightening his brow. “We’ll pull through, you’ll see. I trust you’ll snap out of it in due time, but if you don’t, I guess I’ll have to come up with something to coax you out of your low.”

Much to Dan’s chagrin, however, Jean-Éric’s funk is a pesky thing that overstays the welcome it was never truly given, hanging around for the drinks they have the same evening, being a company as they go around the city, wrapping itself around him like a sheet while he sleeps a stilted sleep on the bed across Dan’s and clinging onto his shoulders throughout the second day, dedicated to media commitments and a night out and about in São Paulo. Not even the breathtaking city lights are enough: Jean-Éric tries to soldier on as they do their sound check for the set on the third day and receive gifts from the more effusive fans, but to no avail, and while Dan is genuinely worried, he’s also persistent and decided to shake him out of it at any cost.

To do so, he resorts to every trick he knows: he tries talking, he tries flattery, he tries mockery, he tries reasoning, he tries joking, he tries chocolate, he tries alcohol, he tries dragging him for a run in the park across the hotel, he tries mental relaxation, he tries getting him to make as much noise as possible to pour out what’s ailing him, and he only won’t try a back massage because he has no idea how to. Nothing really works, or doesn’t work long enough to be lasting, and Dan’s dangerously close to running out of ideas.

The gig’s the next evening and now Dan’s the one who can’t sleep.

Jean-Éric has repeatedly assured him that it’s just a momentary thing, that he still wants to be in the band, that he’s not giving up on the dream and that they’ll still go all out and it’ll be an epic set, that maybe that’s what he needs to get out of that quandary once and for all, but by now Dan’s no longer worried about the show, the festival, or even the tour itself. He’s not trying to solve Jean-Éric’s dilemma for the sake of the band, or for himself.

He’s doing it because he listens to his heart all the time, trusting an intuition that has never let him down before. He always listened to it closely: it told him to run, to laugh, to talk, to learn all about cars, to try his hand at karting, to learn how to play the drums, to go into engineering, to start a conversation with this guy at a party he helped setting up, to have a band of his own, and in these moments of darkened solitude he can listen to it even better because there’s nothing else distracting him. He holds his breath and hears it saying what he already knows, that he’s got this _thing_ for Jean-Éric, that this thing he feels for him is _big_ , wide like the sky and deep like the ocean, and he cannot pretend Jean-Éric is alright when it’s clear he’s not.

It’s the torch he carries, and he’s not willing to let it go.

Dan thinks about the perplexing uncertainty Jean-Éric is immersed in and the feeling he himself is drowning in, and about how oblivious his bandmate can be about certain things sometimes, and then that he should be coming up with a solution to the problem at hand instead of cursing Jean-Éric for missing the plethora of hints he drops. It’s how his brain works, an endless zigzagging from thought to idea to notion and then back, fueled by the sounds of Jean-Éric’s intelligible French muttering. He thinks, and thinks, and thinks, and eventually falls asleep.

Just before he does, however, an idea presents itself to him.

It’s extreme and it’s risky, it’s a _monumental_ risk and it puts a lot of things in jeopardy if it doesn’t work; more than anything, it puts six years of friendship on the line, and the possibility Jean-Éric will never look at his face again if Dan’s assumptions about him turn out to be incorrect. It’s a hefty price to pay, it’s one he’s not sure he’s willing to pay, but what the hell. It’s worth a try. Anything is worth a try by this point. He knows what he’s about to do, he knows the path he’s about to tread, he knows there’s something there. It’s not unfounded, and he’s going for it. And, Dan figures, if that doesn’t simultaneously rouse Jean-Éric out of this baseless fear of his and make him realize there’s something between them that they should be giving further thought to, then he can give up once and for all because nothing else will.

The following day is a blur of hot air and scorching sun; it’s not summer anymore but it still feels like it, and through São Paulo’s maze of buildings they go, early on after having a light lunch, to set up their equipment and catch a few of the other sets before theirs. Jean-Éric seems to be faring better, though, and is far more talkative today than in the previous couple of days, Dan is glad to notice, but he still doesn’t seem up to his best. The idea is still swimming in Dan’s head, and while it’s hard to focus on anything else every time it comes to surface, he’s still determined to make it happen.

“How are we doing today?” he asks, his tone melliferous, casting Jean-Éric a sideways glance and sipping from a plastic cup. “All ready for the rock ‘n roll?”

“I’m fine, Dan, and I’m ready to play,” Jean-Éric replies, sighing, glad the sunglasses he’s wearing hide his eyes rolling. “It’s the third time you’ve asked me this today. I hope this doesn’t mean you’re losing your memory or forgetting how to play ‘cause I can’t do a one-man show.”

Really, it’s nice to see Dan cares, but Jean-Éric can’t shake the feeling there’s something odd going on. Dan’s always attentive and helpful, except on the very early mornings, but he’s even more so today, not allowing Jean-Éric to lift a thing and not even being overly sarcastic about it. He’s wondering if Dan accidentally broke something, or if he’s about to ask Jean-Éric a favor, or what exactly is the reason for such pleasantness; on stage, Alabama Shakes has just finished a song and he decides not to give much more thought to that as he cheers them enthusiastically.

Just as a soulful guitar riff signals the start of another song, Dan checks his watch and tugs at Jean-Éric’s sleeve.

Time to act.

“What?”

“There’s, um- there’s something I have to show you.” 

To Jean-Éric’s befuddlement, Dan sounds too unsure for what he’s saying, his voice barely above a murmur, almost as if he’s not all that convinced of what’s coming out of his mouth, or that he hasn’t really thought through what he’s saying. Dan knew very well one of the sets Jean-Éric wanted to see the most that day was Alabama Shakes’, and they had had the better part of the afternoon for themselves, but it’s only _after_ the gig has started that he wants to show him something?

The pleasantness is all explained, then.

“Does it really have to be now?” Jean-Éric shouts over the sprawling, bluesy melody, leaning close to Dan so he’ll be heard. “Can’t it wait until their set is over?”

Dan gives him an odd look, as if Jean-Éric was purposefully ignoring that _of course it can’t wait_ , their own set’s in forty-five minutes time.

“No, JEV, our set’s next. It’s got to be _before_ it.”

Jean-Éric sighs. Oh well, there are more festivals to come later in the year, maybe he’s lucky enough to catch another set by them.

“Alright, let’s see what’s so urgent.”

Dan leads the way, going down the stairs and into the backstage, where they run into all sorts of people milling about, staff, management and musicians alike, chatting loudly both in Portuguese and English, coming in and out of ajar doors in makeshift dressing rooms, scurrying around and about in the flowing hustle and bustle usually found in venues like that. Jean-Éric is grinning to himself already, taking in the energy; it’s what he needed, maybe it’s all that was missing, to see all that, to be a part of it like he is now, and to know it’s just like everywhere else. In the end, there’s nothing to be worried about. 

Dan’s moving away, however, and he follows him outside again, into the dry Brazilian air. Jean-Éric isn’t usually up to Dan’s charades so near to showtime, but now he’s curious, and curiouser he gets as Dan keeps going, pushing aside a tarp to dive under the stage they were standing on a minute ago. It’s darkened, hidden away from the sun and apparently devoid of people, even if the music still swirls to their ears about as loudly as before; as Jean-Éric takes off his sunglasses and his eyes get used to the penumbra, Dan’s already vanished.

“Dan?”

“Over here!” 

The reply comes from around a narrow corner of sorts three or four feet ahead; Jean-Éric’s just thinking that’s got to be the most concealed place on the festival grounds when suddenly Dan’s _all over him_ , shushing him as he’s pushed against some sort of surface. It’s not violent, of course it isn’t, it’s more of an agitated movement, and his first impulse is to look ahead as his mind falls apart in confusion, but Dan’s gone from his view again, dropping down to his knees in a fluid motion. Jean-Éric breathes in deeply, because suddenly the air is knocked out of his lungs; he senses a distinct scent of smoke in the air and it feels even drier, his senses promptly sharpened in a rush of adrenaline. What changed is that Dan’s now tugging at the waist of his jeans, his fingers grasping against his skin in a cold sting that seems to prick directly into his heart, setting it into a frenzy as Dan’s _undoing his fly_ and lifting his t-shirt and there’s a little sigh of satisfaction emanating from his lips before his _tongue_ start moving across the soft flesh of his belly and-

_Oh, no, this can’t be happening._

It’s the stuff of dreams, pure and simple.

It’s got to be yet another of those wet dreams starring Dan he has sometimes, Jean-Éric attempts to reason; _the embarrassingly hot wet dreams_ , you mean, a voice in the back of his head completes, but that’s all they ever amounted to, nothing but images sublimated into fantasies. Nothing like Dan actually kneeling in front of him, nipping across the elastic band of his underwear and glancing up at him with the cruel glint of someone who knows exactly what he wants in his eyes. That’s precisely what sets him off, that’s what makes him realize that it’s all happening and Jean-Éric’s eyes widen in the face of the panicked realization that _this is not a dream_.

_Well, it would appear that Dan wants you after all_ , the voice helpfully notes, and he can’t help but sarcastically retort that _yeah, he kind of noticed_.

“What are you doing?” Jean-Éric manages to choke out, his voice almost crumpling back inside his throat, and he wants to smack himself because his knees are already melting into a puddle and _nothing has happened yet_.

Dan gives him a toothy grin, but his eyes are still dark.

“You’ve been down all week long,” Dan states, squeezing his hips with both hands; it’s delicate like moonlight but it feels like it’s going to burn through fabric, skin, flesh and bone right to his core. “Just wanna give you that extra energy you’ve been missing out on before the set, y’know, release that tension a little.”

Jean-Éric stares at him dumbfoundedly, not that he thinks he’ll be able to recover any time soon from the initial shock caused by the unexpected turn of events the afternoon took, his mouth hanging open. _Just do it_ , the voice tells him, _just let him do it. He wants to, and don’t kid yourself by pretending you don’t want it either._ His breathing is already irregular and unnatural, and Dan looks at him so _ready_ , so _begging for it_ that his heart sinks even further. He lets go, tearing apart the string of thought to drop down the abyss of Dan’s eyes and to not think of anything else other than what’s going on.

It’s almost like Jean-Éric goes into a sort of trance, never breaking eye contact; in a way, it’s a trance born out of trust and lust, and he finds there’s no way it can go wrong. His hands clamp Dan’s hands on his sides to help him pull his jeans down to his knees, and the hairs on the back of his neck stand when Dan teases him by breathing over the flimsy fabric of his underwear. _Of course he’d be a tease_ , he thinks, but the thought dissipates in a puff as the focus’s all on what he’s doing; it’s hot and humid, it makes his blood rush down steadily, in the same dripping manner of the notes strummed on the stage above their heads, and he gives Dan the briefest of nods, his body already taut in anticipation.

Dan beams at him before going down, trailing delicate kisses over his stomach before a quick movement of his hands pulls down his underwear all at once. Jean-Éric doesn’t quite know where to look, his eyes darting from the indistinct darkness around them to the beams of the stage structure to the beaten down ground under their feet and knees, but his gaze is accordingly drawn to Dan’s unruly mess of curls once his mouth is at last wrapped around his cock and his tongue is promptly massaging its underside. Jean-Éric’s eyelids flutter shut and he leans his back against the nearest surface, crying out Dan’s name in an anguished tone that has even himself surprised at its vehemence.

Jean-Éric half-lifts his hips in response, but Dan’s arms are holding him tight in place; he stirs, pushing his thighs a little more apart to give him enough space. He should be feeling exposed, he should even be worrying that someone might come after them, but _fuck_ , right now he couldn’t care less. He’s all sensation, he’s all the slick wetness of Dan’s lips as he moves up and down his length, he’s all Dan’s tongue teasing the sensitive head with the gentlest licks, he’s all Dan’s teeth nipping his way down his shaft, he’s all Dan’s throat swallowing and pressuring warmness around his balls. He groans loudly, curling his fingers around Dan’s hair, his mouth feeling swollen with heat; he suddenly feels a red-hot need, a deep-rooted desire to push Dan down to the ground and replicate every single thing that mouth of his is doing, and then some more.

It’d be so, _so_ easy, it’d be _urgent_ like this is, and _needy_ , and-

The thought causes a further jolt of arousal to surge through him.

Jean-Éric doesn’t move, however, no matter how much he wants to; being as overwhelmed by the pleasure that tingles across his spine as he is, he can only whimper in response, a half-moaned _don’t stop_ that escapes his opened lips as he digs his free fingers into the sticky skin on the back of Dan’s neck for balance and thrusts his cock into Dan’s moaning mouth. If he were thinking rationally in any way, he’d be surprised to find how _skilled_ Dan is at giving a blowjob, but he’s not, he can’t think at all, he’s just feeling his cock tightening both at the stimulation Dan’s so good at and at the idea that he could do just the same, right there, and _Dan would enjoy every moment of it_.

He tosses his head back, fingers pulling hard on Dan’s hair as he feels himself nearing release, and by now his hips move freely, back and forth, a barrage of mumbles and groans drowned in between the strangled guitars above their heads until there’s nothing else, the music stops and time stops and the world’s summed up in him and Dan, the two of them and that’s all that he’ll ever need. He comes hard, his breathing hitched and messy, arching his back to get himself as deep as he can inside that filthy mouth, and Dan doesn’t move either, taking it all in with a low, satisfied hum of a moan.

“Fuck, Dan,” Jean-Éric pants, his eyes still closed when Dan pulls away. “Fuck.”

What comes next is even more unexpected.

Dan is up on his feet again and kissing him.

It’s as desperate as what preceded it, if not more, and from both sides this time: Dan is ferocious as he wraps his fingers around Jean-Éric’s neck and hair, but Jean-Éric is equally frenzied in his embrace, allowing his hands to feel the slenderness of Dan’s skin; Dan is frantic, but Jean-Éric’s equally unbridled as he sucks on Dan’s tongue. It’s an angry kiss, maybe even furious, completely unbalanced and uncontrolled but careful and oddly tender at its core; it’s as if both of them don’t want to break whatever it is that was just built between them. Dan’s right inside his arms, his body emanating heat, and he doesn’t care that it makes no sense, but he wishes for a brief moment he didn’t have to let him go.

It’s sentimental, he knows, and unlike himself most of the time, but _it’s Dan_.

He tries to get a tighter hold on Dan but his bandmate is faster, effortlessly escaping his grasp as he tries to pull him closer by the hips. _Damnit_ , he thinks, _get back here_ ; he’s felt too little of Dan under his fingertips and he wants more, he wants to make Dan come too, he even wants to be _inside Dan_ if he can, but Dan’s already grinning again like the loon he is, running a finger under his bottom lip and laughing quietly at Jean-Éric’s fumbled attempts at holding him down.

“There you go, you’re all _energized_ now, I hope, and relaxed to boot,” Dan pipes up, giving him a cheeky wink. “I’ll see you backstage, JEV.”

Without further ado, he turns around and leaves before Jean-Éric can say anything; in any case, he’s still too astonished to come up with anything and he has to admit he loves the sound of Dan walking away, the soft crunch of his Vans scampering on the mistreated grass, but only because he needs a few minutes to catch his breath before leaving the safety of their hideout to head back to the stage. Slouching back, he’s certainly emptied of the last remains of tension and fright that still nagged at him, but now it’s been replaced by _something else entirely _instead. Now that his brain is gearing into action again, and his thoughts are all whole, wound up and tightened again, the impact of what happened hits him full on, a punch to the stomach he didn’t realize it would come so soon.__

__It’s been too much emotion for a single day, and there’s a set still waiting to happen._ _

__By the time Jean-Éric is seen again, guitar slung over the shoulder, the cocky grin is back on his lips like it had never left; his fingers scrap the strings and there’s something oddly reassuring in the sound that comes out of the loudspeakers. Something hangs in the air as the dimmed lights on the stage slowly shift to an acid hue of green and Dan starts drumming the introduction to the first single off the new album, Tonight We Fall; when his guitar kicks in, its howl comfortably curled around the pounding rhythm of the drum, the crowd hollers along, and he doesn’t even feel too stupid for his absurd worry about all of this in the previous days. He turns to face Dan as darkness surrounds them for the second time that day, and even if he can’t momentarily see him, he knows he’s still there._ _

__He feels safe, and that’s all that matters._ _

___This is going to be a special one, I can tell_ , he thinks, and begins singing. The fear’s all gone, disappeared and dead for good; what will come out of their earlier encounter, only time will tell. For now, it’s about the music, and the crowd, and the stirring effect music has on everyone, and they’ll happily oblige to fall into its sweet embrace like in every other night._ _

__It’s only later, after the set’s long finished, after Jean-Éric goes crowdsurfing and the song the fans had picked to be covered that night is played, after the fans relentlessly sing along to tunes as different as Silhouettes, Apocalypse Night Fight and 58 at the top of their lungs and Jean-Éric’s white-and-blue Stratocaster nearly meets its demise when he lifts it over his head after the last song like an idol of sorts to the clapping and cheering excitement of the crowd, it’s only when Dan’s excitedly goading him to pack his gear up already because he wants to catch Queens of the Stone Age’s set on the main stage that he comes up with some kind of comeback regarding what happened earlier on._ _

__“You’re gonna have to do that every gig now, you know.”_ _

__“Do what now?”_ _

__“ _You know what_.”_ _

__Dan looks serious for a moment, eyes unreadable, but then he grins mischievously, throwing half his bottle of water in Jean-Éric’s general direction, water splashing all across his already damp shirt._ _

__“Nah, mate, come to think of it, I should have gone with this instead!” he pipes up, giggling and shaking the bottle in front of Jean-Éric’s face before his bandmate decides to give chase and he descends the stage stairs in a mad dash for his life. He’s joking, of course, but Jean-Éric doesn’t need to know that. “It’s far more effective!”_ _


	4. Austin

“Now, what’s that?” Jean-Éric’s voice is a silky secretive hush, and the blonde-haired girl by his side leans closer to him, whispering something in his ear behind the safe cover of a well-manicured hand; he laughs heartily in return, pulling away instantly. “That’s not an actual thing, is it? You can’t be serious!”

The girl nods in agreement, seemingly satisfied with the effect her words had on him, crossing her plaid-clad arms across her chest. Jean-Éric scribbles his name and a short message on the cover of her _The Green Hell_ vinyl with an inviting smile Dan’s well aware of its hidden meaning. They’ve been at that for the past ten minutes or so, the venue already empty except for the post-show grime on the floor and their gear’s already stored safely away in their van; it’s only the three of them that remain, as even Brendon has already gone out for drinks with their opening act of the night. Maybe, just _maybe_ , he should have tagged along; the conversation he hung around to witness, on the other hand, became more hushed as its participants grew closer by the minute. He hands it back to her with a wink and a flourish, and just as he’s about to acknowledge Dan about something, he’s quicker.

“Oh, I _see_. I know where this is headed, JEV. I’ll get going.”

Dan’s tone is playful, but this time he imprints a cutting edge to it that is unusual to his laid-back demeanor; it has its own effect on Jean-Éric, as he notices that his bandmate makes a face, as if his coyness had suddenly dropped off his face and disappeared. It’s something that lasts maybe a second or so, however; he’s quickly back to his feet again, possibly in hopes his new lady friend hasn’t noticed it.

“See you later, then?”

Dan moves towards the exit, a small smile creeping to his lips as he zips up his weathered leather jacket and nods.

“I won’t be running away, mate, don’t worry about that.”

Despite what people seem to assume about them, Dan and Jean-Éric are not attached at the hip or at the shoulder or anywhere else; they might spend the better part of their days and evenings together, during long trips from city to city in vans as sweltering as the one they had back in Perth or on flights that seem endless, in interviews and media commitments to promote the album, sharing dressing rooms and drinks and cheap coffee and the occasional cigarette and nearly everything else that there is to be shared, but there’s room for breathing too, a much needed time apart from each other’s frequent company. 

That night, a month and a half into the third leg of the tour and on their second night in Austin, is such a time. The gig’s ended, the music’s retreated back to their cases and boxes and both go off somewhere that they know the other won’t be: Dan turns left, towards the wilderness of neon marquees next to the venue, and he’s silly enough to cast a look over his shoulder to see Jean-Éric and the girl going right, walking down the dirty, freshly rained on pavement. They’ll meet again late in the night, or even the next day, and that’s it, plain and clear, that’s all the space they need.

They aren’t attached at the hip or at the shoulder, but ever since the fateful afternoon in Brazil, Dan has to admit jealousy leaves its teeth marks all over him every time they’re apart.

He _gets_ it, part of the reason they have those nights where they’re out of reach from each other is so that they can go out, meet someone else and have a one night stand. It’s happened before, on the previous tour, it’s happened even back when they still were in Perth, but it was okay then, they were carefree, they weren’t bound to each other, he hadn’t yet given in to his undisclosed desires and desperately sucking Jean-Éric off under a stage minutes before a show was an option more likened to a wild fantasy, completely devoid of any semblance of possibility or reality.

Back then, when his torch wasn’t so heavy to carry, whenever he saw the female fans fawning over Jean-Éric, receiving all the attention the front man of a band is bound to, he didn’t think much of it; he didn’t give a fuck, to be more precise. He even cracked plenty of jokes about it. But years came and went, and things changed, things changed _too much_ ; now, whenever he hears Jean-Éric crawling into the van, or into the hotel room in the dead of the night, some girl’s sickeningly sweet perfume hanging heavy and forbidden on him as he throws himself onto the bed across from Dan’s own with a tired, drunken groan, Dan’s stomach lurches in an odd blend of revulsion and curiosity.

Then, there are the times Jean-Éric comes back smelling of _another man_ , and those times there’s so much insinuation at hand his head spins a little from the strain.

The few times that such a thing had happened, he couldn’t really say he minded. Jean-Éric had told him about it once they had grown comfortable with each other during their time at UWA, so for Dan that was a nonissue. It didn’t change their friendship in the least and Jean-Éric could do whatever he wanted in bed with whoever he wished to, it was none of his concern. At a certain point, however, after coming to terms with the true depth of his feelings for his bandmate, he was unable to shake the thoughts that roused from that realization even if found Jean-Éric would hardly feel the same for him.

It didn’t help that Jean-Éric was full of playful allure, giving in to flirtation to everyone _including Dan himself_. Whenever he wasn’t complaining about stolen t-shirts or missing records or his tardiness or any other detail of Dan’s behavior that seemed to endlessly annoy him, he’d be very effusive to laud Dan’s drumming skills as the true force and talent pushing the band forward and he’d go as far as to compliment Dan’s looks in the right place and time. Sometimes he’d shift pronouns during a song and cast Dan a purposeful look while doing so, joking about it when people pointed it out; sometimes, when it was just the two of them on an exceptionally rainy late night and the conversation took a tailspin into dirty suggestions that would make other people blush, he’d almost assume Jean-Éric _wanted it too_ , perhaps as much as he did, but then he’d laugh, and then Dan would awkwardly laugh, realizing he had gotten it just plain wrong, and that was the end of it. That’s all it was, _playful_ , and he had already resigned himself that it was all it would ever boil down to.

It’s not like Dan doesn’t go out, or is the most chaste example of a human being. He goes out as often as Jean-Éric does, he’s not chaste at all and he’s spent nights with men and women alike, but tonight he’s out on the streets, aimless and loose like autumn leaves drifting on the wind. He already knows how the night will end: he’ll be half-clothed and sprawled on a bed, kissing a boy he’ll barely remember the name of by the next morning and pretending it’s Jean-Éric even if it will feel fundamentally _wrong_.

In the end, that’s the catch.

After Brazil, the nights apart have become recurring, and so have their escapades; it’s a pretense they’ve wordlessly agreed to put up with, and it frustrates Dan immensely.

They had never had any qualms about discussing matters, and they’ve always been open books for each other, or at least open books with very few pages intentionally blanked out or scribbled over, but they didn’t quite talk about _that_ during the next day, or even the following day, or even a week later, and that’s why they are resorting to seeking themselves on other people. They still hesitate to bring up the subject or to even mention it, and by coming back all knackered out, drunk and smelling of other people, it’s like they’re simultaneously rubbing the exhilarating possibility of being together in each other’s face and prodding the other to take the first tentative step ahead.

They still talk about everything else that there is to be talked about, they still hang out together, they still play together, they still live a closely shared life, but it’s not the same now; there’s still something lingering around them, across their figures and over their minds, and all that’s unsaid is still hanging around their necks, obviously there but ignored in hopes it’ll disappear into oblivion sooner or later. They’re always letting go of things, it’s something they’ve never had the difficulty to do: they let go of cities and stages and new acquaintances and monuments and misplaced articles of clothing, but here it is, they’ve found the one thing they don’t seem to be able to leave behind.

Hours later, Dan’s sleeplessly shifting around the bed when Jean-Éric arrives at the tiny hotel room they picked for their stay, and it plays out just like he knew it would, the exhausted groan and the mumbling drowsiness; Dan pretends he’s asleep just because he doesn’t want to throw off the delicate balance they hang onto with a few rashly worded sentences in the middle of the night. Not that Jean-Éric actually notices, as it doesn’t take long until he’s resonating breathily, and Dan finds it safe to turn around and study the sprawled man across his bed, his face turned to the pillow, his back curled into an awkward position, his shirt turned a faded, despondent violet in the near darkness.

Dan’s just thinking that he’s gonna have to endure Jean-Éric complaining of a back ache the next morning when the scent he’s been trying to locate since Jean-Éric shuffled into the room ignites a spark in the back of his mind and he gapes in awed surprise.

Jean-Éric might have left the venue with a girl, the petite blonde bombshell, but he’s come back smelling of the _exact_ same aftershave Dan wears instead, and this time his stomach lurches again, but for an entirely different reason.


	5. Montréal

Adrenaline is always making itself present, in all of its forms and instances, on a daily basis, and by now, they’re more than used to it. It can no longer be taken out of the equation that is their lives, nor can it be ignored or discarded; it’s enough of a companion that its anxious form perches itself on the seat between them as they drive down towards another venue and its vigorous enough to take over once the opening act is done playing and it’s their turn to take on the eager crowd of the evening.

It’s the fuel that spurs them on, thrumming through their veins as the hall sweats and shakes and screams under garish lights of a sexual red that seem to make the air in the enclosed space even hotter; it’s the fuel that unfurls a pitch black smoke of feeling across Jean-Éric’s mind when he jerks back from the microphone after snarling a snatch of lyric and Dan lunges forward, a blur of jet black hair dripping with sweat as he strikes the cymbals and the snare drum in frenzied, calculated movements.

On some nights, it’s intense but on the edge, easy to contain, easy to handle.

On other nights, like this one, it’s _different_.

Their stage’s set up in such a way that they can face each other if they want to, the microphones steered towards each other, and more often than not they do. Over the end of a song, Jean-Éric might pace the stage back and forth, slowly but surely as the waves of sound endlessly crash over the audience. He twangs the strings of the guitar in some sort of impassioned plea nobody other than Dan knows what it’s truly about, digging his sweaty fingers into its body, staring at the drums with clouded eyes and Dan pretends he doesn’t see it but _of course_ he sees it, and his pounding on the snare drum comes twice as hard when that happens so Jean-Éric won’t see his shudder.

Over the bridge of another song, Jean-Éric circles him like a prey before setting a foot up on the top of Dan’s bass drum, the guitar steadied on him, its vibrations buzzing urgently through his hands so hard they almost feel numb, eyes trained on his fingers streaking down note after note as the song tramples towards its energetic outro. The strings feel like cutting into his skin and he hisses under his breath, but more out of approval at the sensation than anything; somewhere in his field of vision, Dan makes a flailing motion, arms moving so fast Jean-Éric thinks he’s seeing things, but it turns out he isn’t, because when he looks up again Dan’s grinning widely at him, that same cruel glint in his eyes that he had in São Paulo, his Tame Impala t-shirt a pool of fabric carelessly thrown behind the seat.

There’s a jolt of _something_ that reverberates through him when he gets that eyeful of glistening skin and of the long, tanned arc of Dan’s throat mere inches from his reach, static surging from the body of the guitar and straining into every inch of his being that he feels the need to tighten his grasp around the fretboard and his focus around the sounds pouring out of the speakers because he _knows_ , he _can’t_ ignore, he _won’t_ ignore it’s not just adrenaline making a haze of his thoughts this time.

He shoots Dan a wordless look as the song disappears into silence and the crowd explodes in cheers, unhooking his leg from the drum with a sigh of relief.

Dan has the gall of _blowing him a kiss_ before he goes.

“Dan’s just without _any_ sort of restraint tonight, isn’t he,” Jean-Éric speaks into the microphone, smoothing a stray lock of hair with a swift flick of the thumb to the enthusiastic shouting from the audience. He begins speaking to them, but his eyes soon are back on _Dan_ instead as all of his attention is irremediably drawn towards him, strung out to the point of ripping apart. Dan, however, doesn’t even deign to look at him as he speaks.

“Can’t be tamed, mate, you should know that better than anyone by now,” Dan chimes up, giving a short, breathless, almost _uneasy_ laugh Jean-Éric’s quick to pick up on. He’s suddenly serious, eyes fixed at last on Jean-Éric like he’s about to fling himself upon him to hit him or to kiss him, and Jean-Éric’s somehow convinced either outcome is possible. “Not like doing it on purpose, either.”

_Of course you’re not_ , Jean-Éric thinks, sarcasm flowing as freely as the sweat coating his neck and making his shirt cling to his back. He thinks of something to say, but being at a loss as he so often seems to find himself lately, decides to focus on the matter at hand instead, and shakes his head while tickling the strings with his fingers.

The remainder of the gig becomes a tug of war.

It’s not overtly aggressive, it’s not meant to hurt each other, but there’s some degree of struggling nonetheless as they ripple across each other on the stage in a rapidly increasing speed, pulling an invisible rope over the very visible line of their relationship. It’s not an attempt to assert power over the other and it’s not an attempt to show who is best either. The electric, dirty, gritty noise of Jean-Éric’s guitar and the thumping, thunderous, shattering quake of Dan’s drums bend and melt into each other in such a way it wouldn’t sound or even _be_ the same if they were to play with anybody else. 

It turns out to be a dare, and one they’re not willing to let go of at all.

The instruments take the brunt, notes fiercely plucked and drummed in unison. Jean-Éric saunters towards Dan’s drum kit again, thrusting forward to take over the bass drum once and for all, and their instruments are touching, slamming together, strings clashing against beats in a shrill, resonating stir of noise that is too easy to get swept up in. He stays still for a moment, flipping Dan’s microphone so he can moan part of the lyrics while remaining right there in front of him, putting pressure on the bass drum, hoping the throbbing vibrations are curling and whirring through the shell wall of the drum and getting to Dan. He wants it to be known, he _needs_ it noticed and reciprocated by Dan too.

He juts his chin, leans into Dan and watches intently, almost challengingly so.

Dan pulls back, feet steady on the pedals, intent as sure as his, and on they duel.

When they have to share the microphone, Dan leans in and breathes against Jean-Éric’s neck at first; he pulls back just in time, but the next time it happens, Jean-Éric goes first and Dan’s hot on his heels, their lips touching it together, just a tantalizing blink away from accidentally brushing against each other in a brief, smeared shadow of a kiss. It’s close, _too close_ , and it’s dangerous, _too dangerous_ , but it’s too late now, it’s gone off the deep end and there’s no retreat. There’s no surrender to be found either, and neither seem to mind it’s more than fire that they’re playing with.

Jean-Éric loves the stage, he really does, he loves to perform and he loves the crowd and he loves everything that there is to touring, from the more minute details of planning down to helping pack the gear at the end of a show, but on this evening in Montréal, the last one in North America before heading to Europe, he is glad when it’s time to give the audience a hearty thank you when the show’s over and the lights cut out after the encore.

It’s too much.

It’s an unholy blend that they chose to douse themselves in: part reckless adrenaline, part hot sweat, part undying intensity, part lustful anguish. Stirred night after night as it is, the thick, dark, _explosive_ substance he imagines it to be is only growing in size, and because it’s expanding, it’s getting to a point it cannot be contained any longer. It’s spilling out, it’s tearing open their seams and flooding whatever stage they happen to stand on, it’s pouring out of the cracks in themselves and splattering all over the walls.

It’s getting out of control.

He’s tried to get rid of it, of this itch, of this _need_ , but it never really goes the way he wants to, it’s never as fulfilling as he wishes it was, it’s never the same. It doesn’t compare. Nobody compares to Dan. That’s the one thing he never thought he’d catch himself acknowledging, but there it is. Everything he’s tried to hold back has slipped through his fingers as of late, so it’s no use trying to hold back the notion that nobody compares to his bandmate in any way or manner of being. There’s only him now, no matter how many times he goes out, no matter how many times he sweet talks other people, no matter how many times he ends up tangling with somebody else in some nondescript place in an attempt to forget, because the more he tries to forget, the more it gets stuck in his mind instead, the more he _remembers_.

It’s not easy, either, not when Jean-Éric is riding a van side by side with the object of his lust and Dan cracks a joke so ridiculous he can’t help but find it endearing nonetheless, or when he has spent and will spend most of his time orbiting around the one he wants the most. It’s not easy even when they are apart, because the act of living together means he’s somehow taken up residence inside Jean-Éric’s brain and he’s still there, shortcutting his thoughts, sabotaging his attempts to get away, complaining that _jeez, JEV, you can do so much better than that_ when he’s out and setting his sights on someone across the hall and not shutting up about it afterwards. It wasn’t easy before, but he used to be able to ignore the urge, or, if he felt particularly bold, he’d let it hang out in the open with a joke or a comment, with the misplaced pronouns and the teasing, knowing Dan wouldn’t quite take his words seriously and he’d remain safe in his denial, his feelings untouched.

It used to be harmless. 

Now the fuse they were trying not to light is burning nonetheless.

They pack up in silence, a stark contrast from the hurricane they wrecked on stage earlier. Neither seem to be able to muster the strength or the courage to say anything, physical and mental exhaustion taking its toll after the game they played. It’s only after Dan has slammed shut the last case and wheeled the last speaker into the back of the van that Jean-Éric speaks up, fighting the goosebumps rising on his skin over the outside breeze.

“You going somewhere tonight?”

“Nah, I’m all tuckered out. I’m pretty sure it’ll take me all of five minutes to fall asleep once I get back to the hotel.” He shyly glances at Jean-Éric. “Are you?”

“I might go get a drink or something, yeah.”

Dan’s face becomes a mirror of resignation upon hearing those words, and suddenly he looks so vulnerable, so hopeless and deflated in the creases of his brow that Jean-Éric considers throwing an arm around his shoulders and telling him it’s not what it looks like, that sometimes a drink is just a drink, that he’s not even considering doing anything else, but then he thinks of the fuse crackling towards them and the burst of fire it would subsequently cause once it went out, and says nothing instead.

“Don’t be late, okay.”

Dan’s voice doesn’t falter, not even once, but his eyes end up adding so much more to his words that Jean-Éric feels the need to somehow explain himself.

“I won’t. I just need some air, that’s all.”

“I suppose you do. Have fun _getting your air_ , JEV.”

That’s how it ends, in a biting note of disbelief.

Jean-Éric promised he wouldn’t be late, but he doesn’t know where the hours went off to once he’s sat down at some dimly lit counter and the drinks keep coming, one shot of whiskey after the other. He doesn’t have the eyes or the clarity of mind for anything else that night, because as he downs the golden liquid and its flavor dominates his mouth, he’s unable to think of anything else other than the confused jumble of memories and feelings he’s found draped around himself. It’s not just the gig earlier that night and its overwhelmingly fierce quality; if he looks objectively at it, from where he stands now, everything that has happened since São Paulo lead directly into it and it’s no surprise it went out the way it did.

It’s everything else.

It’s Dan’s laughter that won’t leave him alone, it’s that big smile of his without a trace of dirt or doubt to it, it’s the look in his eyes, it’s what happened in São Paulo, it’s the sleepless nights planning the future ahead, it’s the afternoons rehearsing, it’s the long trips down long roads playing stupid games he invents so time will pass quicker, it’s the wasted time together that he’d waste all over again if he had the chance, it’s the realization Dan’s been his constant companion throughout all those years of adventure and if it weren’t for him having the idea first, they would have never gotten that far. It’s the realization it was never meant to be a one-time thing, it was never meant to be something to let go of. It’s the realization he needs Dan, he always did, and its meaning is far deeper than it seems at first sight. 

It’s not just about having a band together.

He pays his tab and strides the streets in a huff to the hotel.

Dan’s asleep when he arrives, as he imagined he would, the room immersed in soothing silence; the curtains are almost completely drawn but a slit of glinting silver from outside still filters in. His bed, the one close to the door, is untouched and immaculate as he slides off his old shoes next to it, and Dan’s bed is the usual mess of pillows and hastily thrown around covers he makes in any given room they rent for the night. 

He looks tranquil.

He looks _beautiful_.

A pale white sheet is wrapped around his hips, his lax arms resting upon the bed with half-opened hands as he lies on his side, his topless back turned towards Jean-Éric, the dark words trailing down his spine a lure almost too impossible to resist. His eyelids are shut heavily, as if he was sunk into some deep slumber hard to rouse out of, his mouth slightly agape in silent breathing, his hair a jet black, unkempt mass of curls that Jean-Éric has to fight the urge to run his fingers through them or his lips across the naked curve of his neck.

Instead, he sighs, diverting all the energy of his longing towards throwing off his dirty, sweaty shirt to the side and sitting down on the carpeted floor, and because he’s drunk as hell and the whiskey has done wonders to his ability of keeping his inner thoughts where they should be, he begins to talk.

To the walls, evidently, because nobody else would listen.

“Ah, Daniel,” he begins, not too loudly, leaning his back against the bedside and groaning when he hits the small knobs on the drawers, legs stretched like spindles as he goes. “You were a beast on the stage today. I don’t even mean it in a bad way. You were unstoppable, you were like a force of nature. Like a thunderstorm, I guess.”

He pauses, the ends of his hair getting into his eyes as he tiredly rubs them. His thoughts are starting to funnel into an incoherent blur but he finds himself unable to silence himself or to steer away from the direction they’re leading him to.

“Like a big thunderstorm that’s always making away with all the peace and quiet. Yeah, that sounds about right. It’s what you do, you come and put sound where there’s none. It’s not bad. I don’t mind. All the sounds you make, I like them. They make life more entertaining. They get the mind working, they get me going, y’know. Even when you’re not around, even when you’re just like a choir of furies in the back of my head, even when I’m _dreaming_ I still can hear you looping around my mind in your stupid motorcycle boots.” He sighs again, more out of tiredness than anything, scratching at the almost-ripped knee of his jeans. “Truth is, I’ve been foolish lately. Real foolish. Trying to push all of it away, but it’s not working. I guess it’s fair. Serves me right for falling for you too hard and too deep.”

It sounds more real once he’s put voice and intent to idea and thought.

“Sometimes I wonder if I really wanna know if this thing, this _feeling_ I have for you flows both ways. I’m not too sure what to name it, but I know I have it. I think the time to face it has come, and- and I think it does. I hope it does, at least.”

There, he’s saying it all, he’s letting it all out.

Jean-Éric’s about to continue on that meandering line of thought when Dan makes a little noise that almost sounds like he’s sniggering; his first reaction is to clamp a hand over his mouth, as if he could push all that he’s set out afloat over Dan’s bed back in. Silence’s suddenly thick and the sound of his heart thumping out of tune is the only thing he hears as he waits for another sign that Dan’s still asleep, but then there’s the sniggering sound _again_ , and Jean-Éric holds on to the edge of the mattress to peek over Dan’s shoulder.

“I can’t believe it! You’re _awake_!”

His head spins, equal parts angry and ashamed as Dan openly cracks up and shifts around to face him: angry at Dan for finding amusement in his muddled moment of emotional submission and for it not being the reaction he expected or hoped to receive _at all_ , ashamed at himself for letting his guard down the one time he shouldn’t have. 

“Well, I wasn’t, until you arrived and decided to go all talkative on me!” He gives Jean-Éric a long look, giggling softly to himself as he props his pillow up and sits on the bed. “Why are you blushing? You’re not even trying to hide it like you usually do!”

At any other occasion, Jean-Éric would have welcomed that sound, he’d have laughed at the joke and he’d have an answer at the tip of his tongue but this time, he says nothing. His eyes prick and his face burns even deeper, and his upset expression has all of Dan’s mirth vanish in the blink of an eye.

“JEV, don’t be mad, I’m not laughing at you.”

“I doubt it.”

“I’m laughing at my inability to keep a straight face, I swear.”

“Of course you are.”

It’d be icy if he weren’t under such a boiling rage; instead, it’s emotionless.

“JEV, don’t you know me by now?”

Jean-Éric casts him a wounded look, but nods in agreement nonetheless.

“Then you know too damn well I wouldn’t laugh at you for any reason. Unless you actually did something on purpose, but that’s definitely not the case now.” He glances and fidgets with the hem of the sheet bunching around his hips, trying to avoid Jean-Éric’s inscrutable gaze before sighing. “I guess that since we’ve started putting the cards on the table, there’s something you should know. You’re not too wrong in your assumption.”

“What assumption?”

“That the feeling flows both ways. The one you don’t know how to name.” Dan stills down, serious in such a way Jean-Éric is able to count the times he’d seen it before in the fingers of one hand. He feels the ripple of a shudder down his spine when Dan looks at him with expectant eyes. “Is it true?”

_It is_ , Jean-Éric screams on the inside, the anger dissipating into another rush of adrenaline, unlike the one he’s used to experience on the stage. Acute, swirling through his bloodstream, swelling inside himself like something impossible to contain, he breathes in because he’s already spoken too much for one night, but he still can _act_. He’s too caught up in it already to stop, and it’s imperceptible, a fluid motion as he gets on his knees to draw Dan into a long awaited embrace and an even more anticipated kiss.

Jean-Éric’s too eager to find out Dan’s skin is still the same as before, invitingly warm to the exploring touch of his fingers; he moans softly into Jean-Éric’s mouth, tugging at his hair and cupping the sides of his face to feel the rough texture of his day-old stubble. It’s silly, it’s such a small thing, but it’s already doing something to Jean-Éric, the soft vibrations of wet mouth on wet mouth making him shudder and press up against the side of the bed.

“I want to-” he pants when Dan parts away, and his knees should be hurting but he doesn’t give a fuck, his attention is somewhere else; _it’s all about Dan now_. He’s breathless, face red, eyes still shut as his hands seek out Dan, but then he’s getting cut off with another kiss, and Dan’s hand is grabbing his, and he never pulls away, he’s not pulling away at all, and Dan’s dragging it down his stomach and-

The corners of Jean-Éric’s lips curve into the loose shape of a satisfied smile as Dan’s hand holds his over his underwear-clad cock; he had somehow learned to ignore that particular sleeping habit of his bandmate, however difficult it was to pretend Dan wasn’t prancing around the room wearing nothing but his boxers and claiming it was because it was the most comfortable he could get, but now, _now_ he’s finding it the best thing ever. Dan breathes in sharply at the contact, pulling away briefly to scoot away and open some space over the single bed.

Jean-Éric takes the opportunity to climb onto the bed and over Dan, throwing away the sheets to the floor and the first thing he does is to move his hand up and down, slowly, _deliberately_ so, wanting to see the reaction it’ll cause on Dan, and he whimpers deliciously, eyes half-closed, an air of absolute need clinging on him. Jean-Éric strokes him again, and then again, feeling his way around the soft fabric, aware of each change of breathing from Dan, feeling the length of his cock harden and leak under the curled palm of his hand. Dan tries to push his hips up, but Jean-Éric’s on him in such a way he can’t quite keep track of, his movements too brief and not enough to get the full contact he wants.

“I want to make you come,” Jean-Éric’s eventually able to complete the sentence into Dan’s ear, his free hand clutching his neck, his lips brushing against his earlobe, and it’s not because he wants to be secretive, it’s not a secret anymore, it probably never truly was. He never stops marveling at the beauty of Dan sprawled underneath him, at all that he’d dreamed of for a long time unraveled between his thighs and casting him the most begging of looks he’s ever received, a look saying _yeah, so do I, I can’t believe it took you so damn long to get to it_.

He gives Dan a bit more space, and while he does so, he undoes the button and the fly of his jeans; Dan seizes him back by the belt loops and helps him out of it with greedy hands before dragging him back up his lap. Jean-Éric’s suddenly aware of their position, the arms and legs entwined, mouth on mouth, inches and inches of skin touching and melding perfectly. He pushes down against Dan’s lap, a slow movement that has Dan stirring underneath him and deepening the kiss further as fingers scrape down his back.

Then, Dan pushes back, and his mouth drops open in silence, brow knitted in ecstasy.

It’s even better than what Jean-Éric imagined, the heat that comes off from the friction of their cocks rubbing together sending them both whimpering in unison. Dan’s grabbing at his thighs and hips now, trying to rouse him further, trying to push him one step ahead, trying to make a new rhythm of their own on that late night encounter, and it works. Jean-Éric’s making him lie down on the bed with a well-placed hand on his shoulder and kissing his collarbone while his other hand’s back at working his cock; from his neck, he trails down his chest, biting at the sensitive flesh of his ribcage. He glances down at Jean-Éric with heavy eyelids; Jean-Éric glances back, his eyes full of some _unspeakable_ feeling Dan can only describe as desire as his lips pucker up to first lay a kiss and then to teasingly suck at his nipple. He can only shiver, shiver as if in a fever that makes him moan and stir in pleasure that had long been yearned for and that he knew for sure to be reciprocated.

Clutching at his hair, Dan pulls Jean-Éric back up to get another taste of his lips, and he does, all of its soft wetness something so easy to get lost in he happily obliges to shut his eyes and let his hands wander down to the front of Jean-Éric’s boxers. He’s wet too, as wet as Dan is, and he doesn’t resist getting a stroke or two of his own. Jean-Éric is quick to respond, getting a handful of his own again and laying on his side to get a better access to Dan’s cock; because every action has a reaction, Dan’s hooking a leg over his hips and lowering his own underwear so Jean-Éric can touch him, can feel him, can give him all the pleasure he’s been craving.

“I’ve always-” Dan begins, and it’s hard to go on, because Jean-Éric’s fingers are swift, quickening their strokes when it’s needed, loosening up when it’s meant to tease, and he’s feeling it, he’s feeling it come closer and closer and _closer_ , falling through a spiral he cannot get out of. It’s like getting caught in the undertow, but he doesn’t mind, it feels so good, it feels perfect, and it’s what he’s always wanted, it’s what he’s been waiting for, to have Jean-Éric’s hands on him like that, sizing, grasping, caressing- 

“Oh, JEV!” he cries out when he can’t hold it any longer, lost in the darkness constricted between their bodies, clutching at the back of Jean-Éric’s neck and pulling him even closer, disheveling his hair, coming all over his hands and thighs as his hips push forward. He’s still for a brief moment, mouth a perfect circle trying to come up for air, trying to find reason but the force of the current is stronger; he’s unleashed, tugging down Jean-Éric’s underwear to finish him off too, to drag him along so they can drown together.

The shudder Jean-Éric feels when he hears his name coming out of Dan’s mouth _like that_ sends him into a frenzy, and when he laces his fingers around Dan’s to help him along, he can only follow suit, the release feeling like the sweetest he’s had in a long time. It’s good that there’s silence afterwards, however abnormal it is for them, so that their respiration ease; it’s not usual for him, but Jean-Éric’s the one to break it this time after Dan reaches out and plants a kiss on his sticky stubble.

“Dan…”

_Wow, I’m so tired._

“What?”

Jean-Éric’s wrapping himself around his bandmate, a yawn escaping his lips.

“You’re so comfortable, I think I’m gonna have to lie here with you for a while.”

_So, so tired._

Dan laughs, his grin wide and satisfied but no less astonished.

“Lie away, mate. I guarantee I’m the nicest pillow you’ll ever get in your life!”

_I don’t think I could ask for anything else in life_ , really, Jean-Éric thinks, resting his forehead on Dan’s shoulder, arms tight around his torso, breathing in the scent of their bodies mingled together. He feels it’s oddly soothing, and there’s a hint of happiness creeping across his mind as Dan’s arm is wrapped around himself. _Anything else. Nothing is going to compare_. The emotional weight of everything else catches up with him at last, however, and he feels himself drifting into unconsciousness in large strides.

_Nothing._


	6. Amsterdam

One day turns into two, two days turn into a week, a week turns into a week and a half, and by the time their rented periwinkle blue van has rolled into Amsterdam, it’s not only been exactly three weeks since their flight set its wheels down in Portugal, but also a briskly blue morning in October. Dan’s still fast asleep in the passenger seat, head thrown back in the space between the headrest and the seat, sunglasses put on upside down for no apparent reason; Jean-Éric, having only the chirping robotic enthusiasm of the GPS voice to keep him company, does not avoid rolling his eyes every time he casts an aside glance at him, but still smiles nonetheless out of sheer amusement.

It might sound petulant of himself to believe so, but he finds Barbagallo is becoming more cohesive with each passing night; not that they weren’t before, but now, it feels as if it’s becoming easier, gig after gig, set after set. Notes curl and rattle like they’re meant to, beats pound into each song the foundation they deserve, everything comes together in the same certainty that binds flash of lightning and clap of thunder. Nights have become even further inebriating than they used to be, an explosion of sound and light and sweat that begin with coy kisses hiding behind corners just before going up the stage and invariably end in an exhausted heap on whatever bed that happens to be the nearer to the hotel room’s door.

Mornings, however, are still lazy, listless, quiet and given to that sort of stream of consciousness-fueled analysis Jean-Éric’s currently dedicating his attention to.

It’s all due to Montréal.

They don’t quite know what peace is, not with the lifestyle they have or with the choices they make, but when they’re laying in bed, tired but together, and Dan strokes his hair in the tame moonlit glow filtered through cheap curtains, something very close to it lingers on their skin for the remainder of the night. It’s silent, but they’re learning to accept silence sometimes speaks more than words do and that those moments are to be treasured; they love the world of sound they live in, but those moments are a world of their own, housed under a shell of stillness and fragile air, and it feels fitting that it is so.

It’s just the two of them now as well, Brendon having to return home the week before for family reasons and leaving behind a host of recommendations and checklists for them to follow through nearly every day. It’s not like they’re entirely unfamiliar with the procedures, they’ve done it plenty of times when they were getting started, but Brendon shrugs, sticking a bright orange post-it note on top of a stack of papers. 

“Guess one can never have too many reminders. It’s gonna be good, it’ll keep your minds _fierce like a beast_ ,” he states, hastily scribbling on the colored paper under their keen scrutiny. “Lots of things to remember as well. You think you can handle it?”

Jean-Éric opens his mouth to say something but Dan elbows him before he can.

“Of course we can, Brendon. Come on, you know us.”

“Yeah, it’s exactly _because_ I know you two that I’m saying this. I don’t know what happens, every once in a while you get distracted way too easily, especially _you_.” He continues, casting an upwards glance at Dan before pasting another post-it note by the first one. “You have, like, the attention span of a goldfish sometimes.”

Unfortunately for Jean-Éric, he isn’t quick enough to stifle his laughter.

“That- that is _so_ not true,” Dan protests, his voice indignant, glaring daggers first at Brendon and saving the sharper ones for Jean-Éric. “I’ll prove both of you wrong!”

So now it’s just the two of them, but Jean-Éric doesn’t mind it at all. They had never liked to travel towing an entourage around as it was never really their style to do so; they’ve always preferred to travel light, taking only the necessary, and that isn’t going to change anytime soon. It’s easier, it costs less and it allows them to move in the pace they want to, and in this fledgling young relationship of theirs, Jean-Éric finds it better that it’s just him and Dan taking up the road and working it out between themselves without any interference.

Jean-Éric drives over a speed bump faster than he should, swearing under his breath in annoyance at his distraction; Dan gasps in his sleep and jerks awake, the sunglasses falling off his face as he dazedly stares around his surroundings.

“Good morning, _sunshine_ ,” Jean-Éric enthuses. “Glad you’re finally awake to be an active part of the trip, even though- how can I put this? There’s not really much of a trip left by now. As it often happens, you’re too late.”

“I might be only half-awake but I can detect sarcasm just fine, okay,” Dan grumbles, scratching his eyes with the back of his hands, “How long ‘til the hotel?”

“Fifteen minutes or so, but I think it’ll take us less. Not a lot of traffic around.” He motions his head to the side. “I woke you up just in time for sunrise, by the way.”

“Oh, isn’t that so nice of you.” Dan yawns, sounding grumpier than he actually is. The sun is poking out over the horizon already, gently clawing at the clear sky with its rays of light, and it’s lovely, the way the dawning day slowly rouses itself out of its slumber. He smiles nonetheless, glancing at Jean-Éric over his shoulder. “It’s too damn early for anything but hey, getting to see the sunrise’s got to count for something, right?”

Jean-Éric nods quietly, but it’s more out of suddenly feeling a swelling of unexpected emotion inside than anything else; it’s just how Dan looks peering out of the window, arms crossed and chin leaning on his hands, it’s his gentle, marveling expression awash in the pale golden light and the way he shuts his eyes to bask in the growing glow, it’s how it hits him straight where it counts, it’s just how it’s so simple he’s at a loss for anything else, his mind and soul tapped into so easily.

It’s just how the sunrise is infinitely kinder on the eyes when Dan’s outlined in it.

Jean-Éric turns out to be correct and about ten minutes later he’s pulling onto the small hotel’s main driveway. A somewhat sleepy bellhop and an equally woozy front desk girl help them with the luggage and the reservations, and after Dan makes sure the back of the van is properly locked with a look at Jean-Éric that screams _take that_ , they move up seven floors to get to their quaint little room. Dan promptly loses his luggage and his backpack on the floor before flopping down on one of the beds, but Jean-Éric is soon sitting by his side and poking at his ribs.

“Don’t fall asleep again.”

“Why not?” Dan whines, stretching the vowels in the words, but it comes off as endearingly affectionate instead.

“Because we have the NME phone interview in an hour and a half, and then the radio interview at noon, and then sound check at the Paradiso right afterwards. Plenty of things to do, no time left for sleeping whatsoever.”

“Just that half hour to get my charging bar up to one hundred, come on.”

“Nope, Dan.”

“Well, in that case,” Dan says, frowning almost too dolefully to be true, “I guess you’re gonna have to figure out a way to keep me awake, then.”

Jean-Éric raises a suggestive eyebrow at Dan’s sly grin, diving down for a deep kiss while he straddles Dan between his legs. It starts with justx the right amount of deliberate gentleness to it as their tongues and lips swipe and press against each other, just a slow descent into their shared desires. Jean-Éric feels his eyelids heavy already when Dan’s hands are on the back of his thighs, pushing him onto himself with a hummed whisper that feels like music to his ears; whatever ease was there is replaced when the heat slowly starts to rise and spread across the pit of their stomachs. He bears down on Dan like that, carefully but surely, leaving a trail of kisses across his jawline and his neck so he can hear his delicious little moans, so he can feel the whole of Dan’s body perfectly wedged underneath his, stirring, vibrating and trying to push back.

It’s all too wonderful, but he has another plan in mind this time around.

Dan’s fingers blindly grasp at the waistline of Jean-Éric’s jeans and reach out to undo its button, ghosting across his midriff; the sensation is equally airy and tingling and he breathes in deeply, trying to rein in the control he’s constantly on the cusp of losing. It’s hard, Dan makes it hard for him when his touch has become so needed, but he grins, pinning Dan’s hands to the mattress with his own, first circling his wrists and then interlacing them together over Dan’s head. Pushing down on him, he feels the hardening outline of his cock against his thigh and he moves down for another kiss to the lips, the slowest he can, before lifting himself to kiss his temple and whisper in Dan’s ear.

“I suggest you take a cold shower to keep yourself awake, Dan.”

Dan’s eyes widen while Jean-Éric slides off him, a vaguely malevolent air to his smile.

“I can’t- I swear, JEV, I’m gonna remember it tonight. You just wait for it.”

“Are you really?”

“I’m exiling you to your own bed! Actually, the exile starts right away! Get out!” He pushes Jean-Éric away, the sole of his Vans nudging the side of his thigh. “Out!”

“Fair enough.”

“ _Fair enough_?”

“I get it. I deserve it. I got you all worked up for nothing. I’m a terrible person, and I deserve the punishment.” He shrugs despondently, getting up and slowly walking towards the bathroom door. The sadness has dropped off his face entirely once he turns around again. “Just remember that my suggestion was that you should take a cold shower but I never said that you should take it _on your own_.”

It takes all of three seconds for Dan to scamper out of the bed after him.

By the time the phone interview rolls around, there has even been enough time for a quick breakfast in the dining hall; luckily, it turns out to be quite a pleasant one. Questions run the gamut from the musical influences found in _The Green Hell_ to the recording process and lyrical content of the songs, and even delve into the ups and downs of touring life; because it turned out to be so easygoing, it also ends up extending itself for longer than it was meant to and once the farewells are exchanged, the trip across Amsterdam to get to the radio headquarters in time ends up being a raucous, rushed one.

It’s rushed enough that the van is hurriedly parked outside and that they cross the ancient front gates and surge up the stairs in dizzyingly fast fashion, jumping the steps in pairs; it’s rushed enough that they make it just in time, and it’s raucous enough that the hosts quickly dub them the loudest guests they’ve ever had live. Having made it in time, they have just a minute or two to catch their breath before going in live, and the interview itself is actually far more fun than expected, interpolating questions that they’re already used to -- yes, 58 is meant as a homage to Marco Simoncelli, and yes, The Green Hell is meant to be a reference to the Nürburgring circuit in Germany -- with others that don’t come around so often, referring to quirks of theirs. The spot dedicated to Barbagallo clocks out at little over an hour and fifteen minutes.

It’s all fun, it’s all going great, it’s all fine as they descend the staircase like regular people now, Dan jotting down on his phone the addresses of record stores that sell rare vinyls that he wants to visit later that one of the hosts recommended to him and Jean-Éric just two steps ahead of him, pulling the sunglasses hanging from his t-shirt to put them on and digging the van keys from his back pocket. It’s not Dan’s fault that he bumps into Jean-Éric because he’s decided to freeze and stand _right in the middle of the doorway_ , and he’s just about to complain when he looks up and his eyes widen in gut-wrenching panic.

It doesn’t register immediately at first.

When it does, a fraction of a second later, it feels like being kicked in the stomach.

The van is not there.

_The van is not there at all. ___

__He doesn’t need to look at Jean-Éric to know he’s feeling the same, the same confusion and powerlessness, the air suddenly lacking in his lungs, the brain weighing down into darkness; somehow, Dan feels worse in that he’s immediately reminded, in gaping clarity, that he should have made sure the van was properly locked before they went up, but in their madcap hurry to get to the radio station, it didn’t cross their minds._ _

__“JEV-” he stutters, his mind painted blank with shock. “The van- I- I-”_ _

__Jean-Éric’s as much at a loss as Dan is, and goes down the obvious route._ _

__“The van’s gone.”_ _

__He sounds calm, _too_ calm in light of what happened while they were up there._ _

__“Fuck, I- here’s what happened. We were late, we parked the van out here and rushed into the station. We forgot to lock it. It’s simple. We fucked up,” Dan begins, tracing back the steps he already knows to have failed. He shrugs, glancing at Jean-Éric, and grimaces. “Looks like we’ll have to brush up on our a cappella skills for tonight, huh.”_ _

__He jokes not because he wants to be disruptive, or because he wants to cause any further harm, or anything of the sort; it’s just something he doesn’t know how to avoid or to hold back. He lets it out to lighten the mood, so they can laugh about it to dispel the heaviness of the moment and begin thinking more clearly about what can and should be done, but this time Jean-Éric’s not having any of that._ _

__“Jesus, Dan,” Jean-Éric rolls his eyes, voice straining as he turns to face the drummer. “Why can’t you ever take anything seriously?”_ _

__Dan’s face drops._ _

__“Excuse me, what?”_ _

__“You’re always making fun of things, especially when you’re not supposed to!” Jean-Éric is often unsatisfied with things, which boils down to him being too perfectionist even when it’s not necessary, but Dan doesn’t remember such anger coming from him, or his voice being raised so loud like that anywhere other than during a gig. “How the hell are we going to play tonight without instruments? It’s not funny!”_ _

__“I don’t think it’s funny! Of course it's not funny, I just thought- it’d loosen us up!”_ _

__“We don’t need loosening up now, Dan! This isn’t the time for joking around! What we need now is to think of a way out of the problem you’ve tossed us into!”_ _

__“The problem _I_ tossed us into?” Dan feels the heat rising in his voice after having such an accusation thrown at his face by Jean-Éric of all people. His throat itches and his thoughts splutter in a mixture of indignant rage and aimless panic. “ _The problem I tossed us into_! Now the van getting stolen is entirely my fault when I wasn’t the only one who forgot about locking it in the first place?”_ _

__“You took that up after Brendon left! I wasn’t keeping track of that specific detail because you said you would, you were all about how you’d show us you paid attention to things!” He glares at Dan. “Some way to pay attention, some way to take it seriously!”_ _

__“Don’t you dare say I’m not taking it seriously, not when it comes to Barbagallo, not when it comes to all of this.” Dan’s livid now, the rage making his mouth move faster than his brain. “This band is my life, I’ve even sold my motorbike for it. I’ve never let the ball drop before and I’ve never avoided going through the motions, the setup, the merch table, the packing up, everything. I do whatever needs to be done and you know it. The only thing I take more seriously that the band is our relationship, and that’s something _you_ don’t seem to take as seriously as I do!”_ _

__He only realizes he’s babbled too much when Jean-Éric reacts as if he had spat in his face instead, his features changed to a weak, pale shadow of what they were moments before, and regret gets the best of him instantly._ _

__Dan frowns but doesn’t apologize._ _

__“Look,” Jean-Éric pipes up after silence threatens to suck them both into a void they can’t get out of, his voice wavering at first; the fact Dan’s gaze remains fixed on him doesn’t quite help. Something flits across his eyes momentarily, a thought that seems to scatter away before it can be held down, and whatever he was going to say remains inside. “I think there’s a bigger problem at hand we should be focusing on first.”_ _

__Dan nods._ _

__“You’re right.”_ _

__The sentences that once were akin to rapid fire now come out curt, almost too abrupt, almost on the brink of dying before reaching each other’s ears, but they come out nonetheless because they need to fix it, they need to fix this _situation_ , because it’s the only thing that can be fixed at the moment._ _

__“Let’s go back up.” Jean-Éric breathes in. “We can ask for help at the station.”_ _

__“Yeah.” Dan scratches his head, the ghost of a smile splayed on his lips. “I got an idea too. I think it’s gonna work in conjunction with your idea just fine, you’ll see.”_ _

__Somehow, seeing Dan smile calms Jean-Éric, even after the rough words._ _

__“It’ll all turn out okay, I guess. We should go to the police. And I think we’re gonna have to cancel the gig.” His voice’s tinged with tired sorrow as they climb the stairway leading to the radio station for the second time. “I’ll call Giedo and see what we should do.”_ _

__Giedo, who happens to be their Dutch promoter, gets to the station not too long after Jean-Éric’s phone call. At the station, everyone sympathizes with their plight: they allow the three of them to hold a small meeting in one of their own meeting rooms and assure they’ll help in any way necessary. After fifteen minutes or so of back and forth, the decision they ultimately reach only confirms Jean-Éric’s pessimistic expectations._ _

__“This is our first canceled gig ever.” Dan’s not happy. “This isn’t good.”_ _

__“I don’t really see another way out, guys,” Giedo’s mouth curves into a saddened grimace. “I’m really sorry about that. We should make sure your instruments are found, however. First thing, we get down to the nearest police station and fill a report, I’ll help you with that. We’ll go to the Paradiso next and see through tonight’s gig cancellation.”_ _

__“Hopefully we can reschedule it as soon as possible.” Jean-Éric’s face is equally grim. “How soon do you think we can come back to Amsterdam?”_ _

__Giedo shrugs, mentally going through the options._ _

__“I do believe the Paradiso had openings in early November when I booked this date, but it’s been a while. It’s the sort of thing we’ll find out when we get there, but you should be able to come back before you head to Asia, whether there or at another venue. Don’t fret, we’ll get it solved. I’ll take care of getting everyone properly refunded as well.”_ _

__“Do you think we can hold some sort of meet and greet with the fans today?” Jean-Éric continues. “We don’t lose the date and at least we get to see the fans.”_ _

__“Another thing we should be able to find out once we get there, but I’d say yes, it’s definitely doable. If we can’t do it there, we can hit somewhere else. I’ll give them a call.”_ _

__“Oh, well.” Dan casts a defeated look at Jean-Éric, but there’s still a twinkle of determination in his eyes. “We got an announcement to make. You think you can handle it on your own? I think they’re just waiting for our word.”_ _

__“Sure. Why?” Jean-Éric raises a curious eyebrow. “Aren’t you coming along?”_ _

__“Get on with the live update. I’ll get working on the social media side.”_ _

__Jean-Éric gives him a look, not even bothering to suppress a smile._ _

__“Can’t think of anyone better to do it. You know what to say and how to say it.”_ _

__“Of course I do, I’m me! But first,” he’s all confidence now, reaching out for Jean-Éric with an arm and for the cell phone in his back pocket with the other, even if there’s still a bit of ambivalence lingering to his figure, “a photo for posterity!”_ _

__Jean-Éric doesn’t see it coming, of course, and his expression in the photo comes off more stunned than anything else, the afterglow of the flash making his eyes ache._ _

__“Hey! What’s that for?”_ _

__“Social media, mate, I just said it! Prick up your ears!” Dan giggles as Jean-Éric and Giedo leave the room, excitedly tapping away at the screen. “Oooh, I’m so instagramming this one!”_ _

__The efforts, thus, end up forked evenly: Jean-Éric goes live, explaining the situation, apologizing profusely for the cancellation and giving out the ticket refund information; while he’s speaking, Dan knocks on the glass, holding up a paper with the license plate of their van and a _Giedo says the meet and greet is go, 5pm at the Paradiso_ hastily scribbled in black Sharpie ink underneath. While Jean-Éric adds that any information about the van is more than welcome and encourages all the fans to come over, Dan’s making sure that the relevant information is posted everywhere it’s meant to, and since he’s the one usually manning Barbagallo’s profiles and pages in Facebook and the such, he does so without second thoughts and plenty of exclamation marks to spare; by the time he’s started replying to tweets, Jean-Éric’s out of the booth and Giedo’s dropping cards with his contacts left and right, should anyone call the radio with information on the whereabouts of the van._ _

__Fifteen minutes later, they’re at the police station._ _

__Forty minutes later, they’re at the Paradiso._ _

__Consternation lingers in the air, but things begin to look up once the afternoon draws to an end, the meet and greet looms in the air, and the fans begin coming through._ _

__While Jean-Éric had mentioned that anything was game in regards to the meet and greet, he could never have expected two things: first, that the turnout rate would be so large, and second, that people would start bringing their instruments along for the ride._ _

__The first fans arrive with records and autograph books, carrying backpacks, wanting to chat about music in excited tones; soon, two kids arrive, exchange students from the local university, one wheeling a speaker, the other one carrying two equally stickered guitar cases in each hand. When everyone decides it’s a good idea to start jamming, it doesn’t take long until all sorts of songs begin to be sung on the top of their lungs by the gathering crowd. Jean-Éric borrows one of the guitars to play, Dan sits by his side and drums on the front of the seat he’s on, and the boy turns out to be a virtuoso, young but extremely talented already._ _

__Jean-Éric has to admit he’s quickly losing track of time as the fans come and go, staying for as long as they want to, bringing in all sorts of drinks and more guitars and excitedly talking amongst themselves and to himself, and the sound is so loud and the racket is so fascinating it’s easy to get lost in. It’s easy to forget all that has happened earlier that day, it’s easy to forget their van isn’t waiting for them outside the venue, it’s so easy because it feels like it’s happened so long ago; as he chugs down on yet another can of beer that’s just been handed to him after he’s finished a song, he feels it’s almost slipping away, but then, as he surveys the room, his eyes land on Dan._ _

__It comes all crashing back down on him._ _

__It’s not something he can avoid so carelessly._ _

__There’s plenty of people around, boys with spiked hair and covered in tattoos, girls clad in black holed shirts and boots, there’s all sort of people milling around and even Giedo seems to be loosening up under the dimmed lights, but as much as he’d like to pretend nothing happened between him and Dan earlier today, he can’t. Embroiled in solving the crisis they found themselves tangled in, they didn’t quite have the time for themselves, they didn’t find the time to sit down and talk, or even to scream and shout until they worked it out. There was no time for that, of course, but something dark still lingers in the back of his mind and prevents him from enjoying everything to the fullest._ _

__Uneasy, unresolved, unmoving._ _

__Jean-Éric casts another glance at Dan, but this time he waits until it is reciprocated and he doesn’t break eye contact for what feels like an eternity. Dan raises an eyebrow and the edges of his mouth curl into what everyone else would take as one of his famous, hard-to-wipe smiles, the ones that are like a trace of silver illuminating a starless night, the ones that precede the thunderous laughter that rumble any given conversation with Dan._ _

__Jean-Éric knows better, however._ _

__He knows Dan well enough to have learned and catalogued every type of smile of his by now, to have understood what he is feeling or trying to hide behind each one of them. He knows Dan well enough to know when he’s happy, when he’s distressed, when he’s nervous, and when the smile he’s giving out to everyone else is a broken one._ _

__This is such a time._ _

__Dan’s never the one that looks away, either, but this time he does, and when a group of fans come over and he follows them to the counter at the back of the venue, the misshaped smile remains plastered across his face in pale comparison to his usual disposition._ _

__Jean-Éric gets up, nudging one of the guitarists from earlier._ _

__“António, right?”_ _

__“Yeah!”_ _

__“The crowd’s all yours, man.” Jean-Éric grins as he slings off the guitar strap and nods towards the circle of people exploding in shouting. “I’ll be right back, but y’all, stay with this kid right here for a moment, he’s the future!”_ _

__“Don’t mention it, dude, you’re too kind. This was a brilliant idea, by the way, you guys are fucking awesome!”_ _

__“Wouldn’t have been about as half as brilliant if all of you hadn’t attended, and if all of you hadn’t been so supportive and hadn’t brought your own instruments. It’s all thanks to you all, and we’re so glad to have fans as great and as generous as you! We sincerely thank you and hope to come back as soon as possible, to put on a proper show to you. We won’t forget tonight however. This is a one of a kind experience, and it’s all thanks to you!”_ _

__People whistle and clap, and Jean-Éric grins and waves as he pulls away and António is quick to replace him, strumming the strings into the opening bars of AC/DC’s T.N.T. to the loud agreement of the crowd. He means it, he means every single word he’s just said, but he has to admit his mind is somewhere else entirely._ _

__Dan’s hunched over the counter, the fans scattered down the smooth wooden surface on the tall seats in small groups, and Jean-Éric soon sidles up to him._ _

__“This isn’t you, Dan.”_ _

__“I’m fine, JEV.” Dan picks up the glass he’s drinking from and swirls its contents around, grinning goofily. “Wasn’t this the most pleasant night? Much more fun than we expected, and what’s best, we didn’t even need to break out the a cappella singing!”_ _

__Jean-Éric can’t help a smile, but it soon drops off his face._ _

__“You’re here all alone, Dan. You’d never do that if you were fine.” He reaches out for Dan’s knee under the counter, seeking a touch he did not venture to steal before. “We need to talk.”_ _

__Dan shakes his head, shifting his leg away so Jean-Éric’s left grasping at air._ _

__“That can wait.”_ _

__“You’re still angry, aren’t you?”_ _

__Dan is silent, and that’s enough of an answer for Jean-Éric._ _

__“You see, _this_ is why we need to talk,” Jean-Éric states, his voice louder so Dan can hear exactly what he’s saying as he moves closer to him. “Because you’re not happy, and I’m not happy that you’re not your usual self. We’ve got to sort it out. I’ll be waiting out back. You’ve got five minutes to finish your drink.”_ _

__It might have come off as forceful but it actually isn’t, and Dan knows it too well._ _

__Jean-Éric’s slouched against the brick wall behind the venue when Dan comes out, a cigarette hanging lazily from his left hand and a vaguely trifling glint to his eyes that he’d chalk up to a trick of the light, a reflection from the overhead white lamps if it were any other situation. His legs are crossed so that one is over the other, and he only watches in silence as his bandmate takes a puff from the cigarette, the smoke that rises from his grinning lips disappearing into the cold night air. _Those jeans are too tight_ , Dan can’t help but notice, too snug around the thighs and the hips, and his brain’s already entertaining him with thoughts of getting Jean-Éric out of those when he’s quick to pick up the thread of thought before it’s gone for once._ _

__“So, you wanted to talk.”_ _

__“I did.” He nods. “I still do.”_ _

__“Go on.”_ _

__“Don’t be so cold, Dan.” Jean-Éric casts a guilty look at the grimy ground underneath his feet, his tone’s almost as uncomfortable as Dan’s. “You don’t have to. I want to apologize for earlier today. I was completely out of line and it couldn’t have been your fault as much as it was mine.”_ _

__“I’m not being cold, I don’t know how to be cold. Never did.” Dan shrugs, propping himself against the wall by Jean-Éric’s side. “I guess this is just me hurting a little. It doesn’t show up too often, but there you go. It’s been a long day, too much has happened. The van, the fight, the police, all that. It’s tiring on the body and the mind. At least it has been a good end of the day. The mobilization, the fans, the music. Me getting an apology from you, too, there’s definitely a silver lining there.”_ _

__Dan’s smile is scant but it’s progress, and Jean-Éric likes what he sees._ _

__“You didn’t seem too tired inside, or throughout the day.”_ _

__“Well, it’s the music and the booze, it’s like a lethal cocktail of hyperness for me.”_ _

__“No, what I mean is,” Jean-Éric begins, “you were really something today. Not that you usually aren’t, and not in an hyperactive way, but you- you kept the ball rolling and you never faltered. And that- that really gave me hope. There was this moment when the fans started pouring through and you looked so relieved, so satisfied that they had come down here for us even if there wasn’t a gig anymore, that they came here for support. It was the big hopeful Dan everyone’s used to, it was you in your essence. And it’s your essence that I’m hoping gets rescued. I know I fucked up, and I’m sorry. Are we good again?”_ _

__Dan turns around to face Jean-Éric, grinning more widely now, leaning his upper arm against the wall. That is a rare Jean-Éric moment, one of those moments in which he’s actually willing to open up and let out some steam, and those are always to be treasured. He did expect an apology, sooner or later, but it was so sincere the sound of those words lilts him right across the heart and all the way down to the bottom of his stomach._ _

__“We are, yeah.”_ _

__Jean-Éric grins, lowering his eyes immediately as he turns around just like Dan did and getting a good look of the surreal sheen the lamps cast on the curve of his neck. It’s not that he doesn’t find Dan beautiful all the time, but it’s different here, there’s an element of relief and of need he remembers from Montréal present all over again. He works his way up to the stubbled chin and when he notices it he’s moving closer, and so is Dan. He doesn’t resist, he could never resist Dan more than he already has, but this time, he’s feeling brash enough to take another drag of the cigarette before tossing it aside, and in a swift movement, takes in Dan for a wet kiss after eagerly exhaling the smoke into his mouth._ _

__They might throw caution to the wind more often than not, climbing over railings or up stage structures, stagediving, tossing guitars and drumsticks at each other, traveling out and about, eating at the oddest joints, drinking the strongest beverages, but they had agreed to keep the relationship under wraps for the time being and what they were up to at the moment was the exact opposite. But it was simply irresistible, it was simply unavoidable, it was something that they did not have the chance to do for the better part of the day, it was something they intensely craved for._ _

__Dan’s hands are on Jean-Éric’s hips now, feeling around the deliciously tight fabric he was yearning for and Jean-Éric hums into the kiss, contented at the caressing. The taste of bitter smoke and sweat that made him reel at first is now dizzying enough that to Dan it feels like they hadn’t kissed in years. His fingers are just beginning to draw a featherlight path across soft skin, cupping the front of Jean-Éric’s jeans and fidgeting with the buckle on his belt when the metal door a few feet away flies open with a thud. Giedo steps out, wearing his sunglasses for some reason, and in his inebriated state he isn’t quick enough to notice Dan and Jean-Éric have parted away as if startled by a bullet._ _

__“Good grief, why the hell are you two hiding out here?” He’s nearly shouting, but alcohol and being exposed to loud music account for that dissonance. “I have good news! The police has found your van! You wanna know the better news?”_ _

__Dan and Jean-Éric exchange amused looks._ _

__“What’s that?”_ _

__“Nothing’s been stolen!"_ _

__“Nothing _at all_?” Jean-Éric looks surprised, if a bit breathless. “Not a single thing?”_ _

__“Well, a couple of T-shirts, apparently, but that’s all. The instruments, the gear, it’s all there untouched. They’ve found it across the town. Should we pick it up right away?”_ _

__“Nah, that can wait.” Dan nudges Jean-Éric, and this time the phrase comes off far more excitedly than it came before. “I think we deserve the celebration and so do the fans!”_ _

__“You heard the man, Giedo.” Jean-Éric grins, clutching his shoulder as he ushers them both in. “Let’s have one more round before we go!”_ _

__They go back in, but by then everything’s already become the sort of dreamlike, cosy blur most evenings eventually turn into. Dan’s extra giddy, all batting eyelashes and raucous laughter and the usual friendliness that never truly goes away, and Jean-Éric’s having as much fun mingling with the fans for the last round as he is stealing greedy glances at him. Glances that get reciprocated and make him bite his lower lip, glances that get reciprocated and make his blood rush in all sorts of wrong, intense, _needy_ ways. It doesn’t take that long for it to completely haze his thoughts, however, and for him to want to give in to the increasingly distracting thoughts populating his mind as soon as possible._ _

__“Dan, we should get going. We still have to go get the van,” he starts aloud, grabbing Dan’s arm before leaning in so close that his lips brush Dan’s ear, “and if we don’t leave now, I might have to drag you down to the bathroom and fuck you there.”_ _

__“Jeez, you men have no self-control, huh,” Dan jokes in an equally purring tone after thanking a couple of fans for coming and high-fiving them goodbye, but it comes coupled with a dirty look through heavy eyelids that is enough to make Jean-Éric shift uncomfortably where he’s standing. Heat begins spreading from the pit of his stomach upwards, drying his throat, flushing his cheeks, and he guzzles down more beer in a futile attempt to cool down._ _

__The trip to the police station is the longest he remembers ever taking; Giedo’s car is tiny and the two of them have to ride in the cramped back seats through dimly lit streets and wide avenues. It wasn’t much of a problem earlier on, but now his focus is all on how Dan’s hand jostle his thigh when he tries to give him space, or on how the fine dimples of skin pucker besides his mouth when he grins and apologizes, or on how he’s still giddily making conversation about how _bitchcakes_ the night was, or how he could go on and on and on about the little things that make up all of Dan._ _

__The little things that he cannot live without any longer._ _

__Giedo makes sure to escort them back to the hotel in safety once the van’s been secured and is theirs to drive again, almost as if he sensed there was something in the air and it was his duty to bring them back unspoiled since the tension was already uncoiled and exposed to anyone who would be willing to look for it. He bides them goodbye with the wink of an eye; the next thing Jean-Éric knows is that Dan’s on him, in the darkened heat of the bedroom, their stained jeans landing by the bed covers flooding the floor._ _

__Nothing worries him anymore._ _

__Dan’s skin tastes of salt, but it’s still the best thing he’s tasted all day long; Dan’s hands are sticky and his hair is matted with sweat, his shirt has holes all over, but it doesn’t matter, he doesn’t care at all, not when he gets to dig his fingers into Dan’s curls, not when he gets to feel the caresses those hands leave on him, not when relief and impetuosity are mixed together in each exchanged kiss. He’s so easily overwhelmed, he becomes so easily a plaything to Dan sometimes, but he finds it impossible not to submit, not to give in, not to set further fire to what was long in flames already._ _

__“Look what you do to me, Dan,” he’s whispering, and it feels so raw, it feels so real having Dan in his lap, having Dan’s hands all over him, having Dan’s lips tracing an excruciating path from lips to jaw to collarbone and tingling skin, having their bodies wedged together like that in growing mutual arousal._ _

__“I light your fire, don’t I,” Dan murmurs gently, with a tone of amusement in his voice at the reference, and Jean-Éric just nods in response. “Are you still going to fuck me like you said you would back in the venue? Are you going to fuck me out of my wits?”_ _

__Dan’s fingers are on the sensitive flesh inside his thighs, feeling around the well-known territory of his back, and Jean-Éric’s mouth drops slightly in wordless ecstasy. It might seem a harmless caress, but Dan’s not a fool; he knows exactly what to do and what to say to make Jean-Éric as maddeningly restless as he is now, shifting around his lap to reach out for one of his hands and wrap it around his own cock._ _

__“Look how hard I am for you,” Jean-Éric breathes out against his ear as Dan teasingly strokes him once or twice and his hips involuntarily nudge forward at the mere contact. “Of course I am.”_ _

__Dan moves in to kiss him again, haphazardly but lovingly, hands cradling his neck as Jean-Éric’s reaching out for the lube on the nightstand and drenching his fingers in it. They’re used to it, reaching the point of no return, stretching the potential until pressure becomes unbearable, but this time it feels like something else entirely. A distinct disregard for restraint is permeating everything, from the air they breathe to the things they whisper to each other, from the kisses Jean-Éric’s now laying down Dan’s back as he scissors his entrance to the firm grip he has on his hips for balance._ _

__Jean-Éric likes it dirty and Jean-Éric likes it rough._ _

__Then again, so does Dan._ _

__“Can I?” Jean-Éric climbs onto him and asks just to be sure, just to know he actually can, and Dan can only nod in agreement. That’s all he’s able to do, as Jean-Éric pins his hands to the mattress, and all that is able to escape from his lips is a low groan once Jean-Éric leans down and pushes in._ _

__It hurts at first, but soon pleasure’s taking its toll on them as Jean-Éric thrusts his hips first slowly, then picking up the proper pace they’re used to. Dan’s stirring and moaning underneath him, reacting wonderfully to everything: to each dirty thing Jean-Éric’s coming up with, to every time their skin touch and graze as they move against each other, to the shuddering realization he’s surrounded by Jean-Éric at all sides and there’s no other way he’d have it otherwise. He’s locked between his legs, inside a boiling embrace of his arms and his cock aches, begging for release. He tries to get off by rubbing himself on the sheets, but to no avail as Jean-Éric won’t let him move further._ _

__It’s getting to his head, it’s not making him think straight._ _

__“JEV, please…” he moans, and to his ears he sounds so wanton he feels even dirtier; Jean-Éric must have thought the same, given his sudden change of pace and the quickening of his breath on his neck, humid and hot, burning like acid as he bites his ear. It’s never been like that before, it’s never been like they’re about to burst apart and dissolve into smoke and fury, it’s never been that _indescribable_. Words fail him, sense fails him completely other than processing what needs to be felt and savored at that moment._ _

__Every day is a breakthrough, in one way or another, on the stage or in their relationship, but tonight, as they’re getting nearer, as they push and pull and become part of the other, it feels like the final barrier’s been shot down in the burning room._ _

__Dan shuts his eyes and everything flashes before his eyes, from the last hour to the last day to the year before to the very beginning and then back, from the shared giggles watching cartoons to the discussions that sometimes need to happen, from the glorious nights on the stage to the quiet moments that are more meaningful because it’s theirs and theirs only, it’s the emotion that he’s investing and the emotion he knows to be lurking inside Jean-Éric as well, it’s the moment of clear conscience, it’s the full realization that what was there all along, it’s the realization that there can’t be a Dan without a Jean-Éric._ _

__It’s the realization that-_ _

__“I- I-” he cries out, engulfed by the feeling of Jean-Éric lapping him at first, gasping out for air before crashing down and soaring back up. He shuts his eyes again and when he comes, it’s clear as daylight, it’s clear like staring at the sun, it’s clear when his mouth opens wide and Jean-Éric’s inside and the words that pour out can’t be stopped. “I love you!”_ _

__Unseen to him, Jean-Éric’s eyes widen at the sound of those words. One push later, it’s his turn to come as well, and it’s no less affecting than it was to Dan; it’s only when he stops moving and he’s pulling Dan closer before carefully laying them both down that he realizes he’s shuddering incessantly. His legs shake, his arms feel strained, but Dan’s still snug in his embrace, their legs are still entwined and the kiss that comes afterwards is understated, gentle, the seal that perfectly ends a day that had everything in it._ _

__It feels pleasing where he is, but while Dan’s breathing soon eases and unconsciousness sweeps its wings upon him, it does not extend its kindness to Jean-Éric._ _

__It’s what Dan said that gets to him._ _

__He has yet to sleep an ounce when the sun breaks above the horizon and he gets up as carefully as he can, making sure Dan does not wake up. He gathers his underwear and the first T-shirt he comes across on the floor and slip them back on, uncaring of how dirty they are, and slides out onto the balcony with his pack of cigarettes in one hand and his lighter in the other, uncaring of the possibility of anyone else being awake in the other bedrooms so early in the day._ _

__It’s an unusually drab morning, or so it seems to Jean-Éric as he sits on one of the benches in the balcony, back turned to the wide expanse of the awakening city below; he has to squint because the light already feels too bright to his eyes and maybe, he reasons somewhat incoherently as he lights up a cigarette, if he does so it won’t further flood his head and increase the subdued ache that throbs across it._ _

__It doesn’t quite work, but at least he tried._ _

__He tosses his head back, smoke escaping his lips in a puff, but his attention is soon turned again to the glass door in front of him and the faint darkness hiding behind the drawn curtains, and then to what lies hidden behind it, to the figure that spent the night curled around him, to what he’s temporarily left drifting asunder. He feels listless, so lethargic it’s almost like he’ll die if he falls asleep again, but it’s only slowing down his body; the mind pulls and pushes and presses on. The mind searches for a resolution; the mind expects to find an answer that has yet to present itself to him._ _

__He takes another puff, and waits, brow furrowed, the echo lodged in his ears._ _

___I love you_._ _

__He’s halfway through his second smoke when movement stirs the stillness on the other side._ _

__It’s indistinct at first, a tanned blur moving back and forth until it freezes upon seeing himself outside, and Jean-Éric realizes he’s nothing but a haze to Dan as well in that moment, filtered by glass and fabric and the weight of all that went through the previous day. He’s staring at Jean-Éric through it all and Jean-Éric stares back, eager for the aftermath. Dan bides his time to come out, but Jean-Éric has learned patience is a virtue, and there’s something expectant about that period of waiting, something hushed and intimate, something that only they understand._ _

__“Nice shirt you’ve got on, mate,” Dan intones once he crosses over, eyes still heavy with sleep, stretching an arm to scratch the back of his head._ _

__Jean-Éric casts a look downwards and only then he realizes he’s snatched up the striped T-shirt Dan wore the day before instead of his own._ _

__“Sorry about that.” He pouts guiltily. “I didn’t notice.”_ _

__“Don’t mind.” Dan shrugs. “It looks good on you.”_ _

__“Thanks. It looks better on you though,” he states matter-of-factly, voice hoarse from a multitude of reasons, not even attempting to hold back the compliment. He wouldn’t have been able to even if he tried with all his might. “You wanna sit down?”_ _

__“Nah, I’m good. I’ve been laying down all this time, my legs are anything but tired,” Dan begins sheepishly, glancing at the tiled floor and the remaining bench and everywhere else Jean-Éric isn’t as he goes, “You could have stayed in bed, you know. It’s not like I was going to eat your brains while you slept or anything like that.”_ _

__There’s this mild hint of hurting in his voice Jean-Éric isn’t too happy to note._ _

__“I just wanted to come here a little to think, that’s all,” he explains, lifting an eyebrow. “You make it sound like I never hang around and that’s not true.”_ _

__“What’s troubling you so much that you had to get away to think about?”_ _

__“You said you loved me.”_ _

__Dan thinks he’s never seen Jean-Éric’s brown eyes so mollified before, and he’s not sure if it’s his own sleepy eyes, or the rising sun behind him, or what it is that is actually making them so, but they contrast so much with the straightforwardness of the statement he’s just made that he’s momentarily thrown out of the loop._ _

__“I did,” he chimes up after a brief silence. “What are you-”_ _

__“Why?”_ _

__Dan feels his face flush unnecessarily, at a loss for words that often come so easily._ _

__“What sort of question is that? I said that because- because I do,” he admits, unabashedly so, eyes sincere. “I do love you.”_ _

__“I don’t understand,” Jean-Éric says quietly, not letting his voice slip or falter, pausing to take another puff off his cigarette, “how can you say you love someone when you feel that person isn’t taking the relationship he has with you seriously.”_ _

__Dan drops his arms down and his hands curl into fists, but not in an resentful manner, or tight enough that it’s out of fury. His shoulders tense up but soon drop down, realizing Jean-Éric took the words from the fight the day before to the heart in a way they might not have necessarily been meant. He sighs, frowning, and sits by his side, silent for a moment._ _

__“I can’t believe you paid attention to that. We were running on high stress-”_ _

__“Look, Dan,” Jean-Éric tosses aside the cigarette butt, and Dan seems so pained that he considers for a moment dropping the matter before realizing that’s not the way to go, “you wouldn’t have said that if you didn’t feel it was true. I know you. It was a stressful moment, yes, but that doesn’t take away the fact you’re unhappy with our relationship and I need to know why.”_ _

__“It’s just- I’m not unhappy.”_ _

__“Dan...”_ _

__He sighs, and even if the confusion at the turn that morning took still addles his mind in ways he wishes it didn’t, he chooses to opens up like he always does, setting what’s burdening his heart out of the cage._ _

__“Alright, fine. Here’s the thing. I’m not a romantic, you know. I never was. I don’t have any illusions about relationships, I don’t ever think they’ll be just like a fairy tale but even better. But I want the whole package with you, JEV. I want it all. I want the good things and the bad things, I want the blind faith and the mistakes, I want the high spirits and the mind games. And sometimes I feel unfulfilled, sometimes I think we don’t have that.”_ _

__“What do we have, then?”_ _

__“We have something loose… incomplete, I guess.”_ _

__“I don’t get it, Dan, how can it be loose? Or even incomplete?” Jean-Éric asks, unable to wrap his mind around the concepts Dan is attaching to their relationship. “We haven’t told anyone about it yet, but that can’t be it, we agreed to do so. What is it?”_ _

__“It just-” Dan pauses and it’s not quite pain he feels, but an overarching sorrow, a thing that chokes him up briefly as he gathers the words to go on, “Sometimes it feels like all we’ll ever have are clandestine encounters in the dark and nothing else.”_ _

__“How can you say that, Dan? We’re always together, we’re always on each other’s side, it doesn’t matter how it goes or what happens.” Jean-Éric isn’t hurtful but he clutches at Dan’s hanging arm nonetheless, suddenly needing to feel the contact of skin on skin again. “You know it. I know it. I’m with you through thick and thin.”_ _

__Dan feels what he’s about to say is not what Jean-Éric expects, but he has to._ _

__“I don’t want our relationship to be cheap. I don’t want it to be just sex. I want to talk to you about it, I want to tell you how you affect me, but usually, you’re rolling over and falling asleep and I don’t ever get the chance to speak up. I want to tell you I love you, but when I do, when the depth of my feelings cannot go further, when we’re at our most intimate and you’re making me come, I get nothing in return. Not a single word.”_ _

__“Wow, Dan.”_ _

__It’s all he can say, stunned that all of this was stewing inside Dan._ _

__“What you felt back in Montréal, the _feeling_ you mentioned, was it love?”_ _

__Jean-Éric stammers and stutters, eyes glazed in bemusement._ _

__“Was it?” Dan presses. “Is love out of the cards? I need to know that.”_ _

__It’s Jean-Éric’s turn to frown._ _

__“Of course it isn’t.”_ _

__“I hope so.”_ _

__“You just tend to be more… _vocal_ about your emotions than I am, Dan. It’s not a bad thing, it’s just the way I am, and I think it’s part of what levels us off. But don’t mistake it for detachment or lack of affection, it’s not. It sucks that it might have come off as it, especially towards you. It was never meant to.” He tosses his head back in an attempt to line up his thoughts, feeling the cold stone lining the edge of the balcony against the back of his neck. “I- you give me a degree of safety nobody else does or ever did. It’s what I’ve been trying to say. It doesn’t matter where we are or what we’re doing, you’re always there on my side. Supportive, sincere, positive, not batting an eye, never judging. It’s not just a thing here or a thing there, but it’s the whole, it’s who you are, it’s even the mysteries of yours I haven’t gotten to know about yet.”_ _

__Jean-Éric just feels the sudden need to tell Dan everything, he feels the need to make up for that misunderstanding, to make up for every misunderstanding that might come along, to make up once and for all for the stupid brawl the day before._ _

__“I’m not asking you to change, JEV-”_ _

__“I know you’re not, Dan,” Jean-Éric continues, his voice overwhelmed as he turns to face Dan, “I’m just trying to say that you don’t need to be afraid. It’s not supposed to be loose, it’s not supposed to be incomplete. I don’t have all the answers to your doubts but we’re in this relationship together as we were in this band together from the beginning and it’s the way it’ll be. And I love that it’s you. I’m that lucky to be doing the one thing I love the most with the one person I love the most.”_ _

__It’s like a torrent he can’t hold back, it’s like summer rain that comes unannounced when it drips out of his lips like that, in all of its honesty, in all of the answers he had been looking for and turned out to be far closer to himself than he’d expected. It’s a wonder, seeing the unease that was in Dan all gone, transforming into gentle comfort as he speaks and into joy as Jean-Éric moves his hand away to lace their fingers together, smiling._ _

__“So, it’s a day off, the rarity of rarities.” Dan embellishes, his face and his mind far clearer now. “What are we doing today?”_ _

__“The same thing we do every day?”_ _

__“Take over the world, you mean?”_ _

__Jean-Éric cracks up, squeezing Dan’s hand harder and getting a smile in return._ _

__“Haven’t we done that one already?”_ _

__“Fine, fine. That one we can strike out of our list.” Dan shakes his head in mocking disbelief. “Let’s be tourists, then. Sightseeing, fancy lunch, prospecting for rare vinyls, the whole shebang. When do we have to leave?”_ _

__“It depends whether you want to travel during nighttime, which I don’t even know why I’m mentioning because I know I’ll be the one ultimately doing the all driving...” Jean-Éric points out while Dan rolls his eyes. “Since we won’t have to worry about check-in times this time around, it can be any time really.”_ _

__“Well, let’s see how the day goes, then, since your parents are so kind as to let us stay over at their place once again. Then we can decide.”_ _

__“Sounds like a deal to me,” Jean-Éric grins, feeling energized, feeling there’s too much potential ahead to simply let it go to waste. “Let’s go, let’s get moving!”_ _

__They were made to move, and so they move._ _

__They never stop moving._ _


	7. Singapore

“...and then he was all like, ‘yeah, you should have seen his face’, and I could just imagine the face you were making because really, you can’t hide contempt even if your life depended on it…”

Jean-Éric stretches his legs across the two-seat sofa, the very look of listlessness displayed all over his features as he taps the screen of his cell phone almost rhythmically and Dan talks on and on and _on_ , not bothering to stop the conversation even when he temporarily vanishes from the backstage room.

“...I mean, remember that time at Sasquatch when someone came up to you comparing our sound to something I don’t even remember what it was, but that sounded nothing like us and I was just glad we were up next because I thought you were going to punch him in the guts…”

In an astounding turn of events, they’ve got nothing else to do for the time being. There’s a party to be attended later on, in some fancy Singaporean club, and they’ve been invited, so they’re hitting it; now, however, there’s a gig that’s just ended, there’s merchandise and gear that’s been stashed away, there’s a nearly empty venue, there’s a very restless Dan and a very bored Jean-Éric waiting for the latter to get it together so they can just get going already.

“...you have such a temper sometimes, you’ve got to be more laid back! Take it easy, take it up Australian style! Though I guess it’s a shining example of your stubbornness coming through…”

So, to pass the time Jean-Éric’s taking a tour retrospective, Instagram-style.

“...still, it could have been worse. Anyways. It was pretty awesome tonight, huh?...”

There are pictures of the Australian Open match they got tickets for on a day off in Melbourne and there is a picture of the two of them passed out on a lawn after a photoshoot in Portland; there are pictures of the zigzagging streets in Ciudad de México and there is a picture of the Twin Peaks T-shirt a group of fans in Rio got him as a gift.

“...although I guess if we were to rank gigs it’d be really hard to pick only ten…”

There are pictures of them helping set up the stage in Madrid, drills and tarps in their hands, and there is a picture of the mess Dan made of the hotel room in Santiago; there are pictures of tapas in Barcelona and soul food in St. Louis and there are pictures of street art in Berlin and punk rock buskers in Prague.

“...you’re not even listening to me, are you?”

Jean-Éric shakes his head in negation.

“What am I talking about then?”

Jean-Éric looks up at him.

“Something about being impossible to pick your ten favorite gigs ever.”

Dan shrugs, somehow pleased with the answer.

“Well, at least you’re keeping track of where it’s going.”

“Kind of hard not to, you’re exceptionally long-winded today.” Dan is about to protest when he raises a hand in peace. “Not a complaint, just an assertion.”

“But JEV, I thought you loved to hear me talking,” Dan starts mockingly, crossing his arms over his chest as he plops down on the armrest. “The awesome Australian lilt, the witty banter, the occasional alcohol-fueled ranting, that bit of slang you’ve never heard before that I might actually have just made up on the spot.”

“Hey, I said it wasn’t a complaint. I do love all of that, I could hear you talk all day if I didn’t think you’re up to some sort of stalling maneuver instead.” He scrunches his face into a quizzical grimace, dropping the cell phone over his chest. “What _is_ it that you keeping looking for that you haven’t found yet?”

Dan raises an arm, where three colorful strips of paper are messily entwined.

“Wanna get rid of those.”

Jean-Éric raises his own arm, a mirror of Dan’s in respect to the festival wristbands.

“So do I, but I’m waiting until we get back to the hotel.”

“Yeah, I know, but they’re making me itchy.”

“They’re making you _itchy_?”

“Yeah, they keep sticking to my arm, it’s annoying me.”

Jean-Éric fights the urge to not roll his eyes at Dan.

“Alright, alright. Why don’t you check the bar, they might have scissors there.”

“Aha!” Dan enthuses, and Jean-Éric receives a well-aimed, somewhat stinging smack to the leg for his troubles. “Yes! I had just checked all the other rooms, but everyone’s either too drunk or has already left! That should teach me to keep a pair of scissors in my pockets, you know. Be prepared for whatever comes, whenever it comes.”

“That’s a terrible idea, Dan,” Jean-Éric states, propping himself on his arms.

“It’s what Batman does, he’s always prepared! He’s _crazy_ prepared!”

“You’re not Batman, you’re a drummer,” he continues, on his way to adding something about accidentally cutting fingers and how Dan’s always one for unpredictability and how he doesn’t really need to be prepared for _everything_ , but Dan’s quicker, jumping to his feet and pressing a quick peck to his lips before laughing his way out of the room.

Sighing, Jean-Éric settles back down and resumes his endeavor.

There are pictures in backstages and radio studios and airports; there are pictures of the sky and the fog and of every country they’ve set wheels down on. There are pictures of guitars and cymbals and anthologies of French poets and boxed sets of Italian horror movies and shots of tequila and new pedals and blurry landscapes and rare vinyls and fraternization with the opening bands; there are the things that he barely remembered and there are the things he could not have possibly forgotten, and then there are the merely implied things that he holds inside like the secret they’re meant to be.

All the bits and pieces that made this journey a tour to remember.

His ennui is sufficient that he’s almost taking a picture of himself and posting it along a snappy comment, but the task he finds himself in is engrossing, and he’s never quite one for showing off in pictures -- the vast majority of those were all taken by Dan. A few minutes have passed and he’s almost running out of reminiscences to go through when there’s the strident screech of sneaker soles on rubbery floor and the mumbled sounds of swearing in an unmistakable accent outside.

_fuckfuckfuckohfuckfuckfuckity- fuck!_

“Dan!” Jean-Éric calls out, getting up. “What’s going on?”

Another string of swear words follow suit.

Dan is hunching by the wall adjoining the door when Jean-Éric comes out of the room, his back turned towards it. He swears again, but this time directed at _himself_ , and shifts away again when Jean-Éric tries to see what’s wrong with him. He’s not desperate yet, just unnerved that Dan won’t let him get closer, but then he notices the edge of the cloth that’s escaping from Dan’s hand that’s being clutched close to his face, and the droplets of something that seems to be blood on his Unknown Mortal Orchestra shirt, and panics.

“ _Daniel, what happened?_ ” His voice rises, stretched out and thin in distress.

“I’m such, such, _such _an idiot, fuck,” Dan breathes out, his tone aggressive. “They didn’t have scissors at the bar, but they had a kitchen knife-”__

__Jean-Éric pales._ _

__“ _A kitchen knife?_ ”_ _

__“Yeah, fuck, a kitchen knife. It was humongous, John Locke would have been proud. So I stuck the blade between the skin and the bracelets because really, I was gonna slice them out of me whether they liked it or not-”_ _

__Jean-Éric gets a hold of Dan’s wrist before he can finish and moves it away._ _

__“ _Fuck_ , Dan.” He winces at the sight of the fresh, bloodied gash across the left side of his nose. “How did that happen?”_ _

__“I jerked the knife up too hard.” It’s clear he’s gone from anger to deflated resignation in the way his voice sounds, and it’d be almost sheepish if he didn’t give Jean-Éric a self-conscious smile. “It seemed a good idea at the time, y’know.”_ _

__“Is it hurting?”_ _

__“Kind of. More like stinging, I guess.” He takes to agitatedly blinking next, brow furrowed as if settling into a new condition. “JEV, be honest. Am I going to go blind?”_ _

__Jean-Éric bites his tongue at the question, trying not to laugh straight at his face because he’s still worried about hum; Dan’s so serious, so _ridiculously _serious about it he knows for certain Dan is joking. He cups his face in his hands and peers closely, gently nudging at Dan to stop blinking for a moment. There’s a tiny, round speck of blood smack in the middle of his left eyelid, but otherwise everything else looks immaculate.___ _

____“I’m no expert, but no, I don’t think so.”_ _ _ _

____“Damn, I really wanted to wear an eyepatch.”_ _ _ _

____Jean-Éric rolls his eyes._ _ _ _

____“You should have tried a little harder, Dan.” He shakes his head, sarcastic despondence tinging his words. “Look on the bright side, you might end with a scar.”_ _ _ _

____“Hmm, a scar.” He seems to ponder, momentarily pressing the cloth on the wound once more. “That could work too, I guess.”_ _ _ _

____“You’re gonna get all the girls,” Jean-Éric pouts, and only then he realizes his thumbs are caressing the sides of Dan’s neck, “and I’ll be jealous.”_ _ _ _

____“I don’t want all the girls,” Dan grins coquettishly, “You’re already my lover!”_ _ _ _

____“Come on,” he tries to hide his lightheadedness with a stern look of worry, squeezing Dan’s shoulders to get him moving, but he feels his face lighting up with heat at Dan’s words nonetheless. “Let’s go to the hospital and get it checked.”_ _ _ _

____“I would comment on your blushing,” Dan says as they leave for the van of the moment, the cloth tight between his fingers, “but I’ve decided it’s better not to, you’re gonna end up mad at me even if I’m convalescing.”_ _ _ _

____“You just brought it up, and it’s not true, I wouldn’t be mad.”_ _ _ _

____“Oh, _right_. You’d blush further instead.”_ _ _ _

____“I would not,” Jean-Éric insists, and it’s good that it’s dark outside, he decides._ _ _ _

____“I don’t see why you should be mad, anyway. I think it’s cute.”_ _ _ _

____Jean-Éric draws the entirety of his attention to programming the GPS to give them the route to the nearest hospital, and with that last admission silence descends upon the van with a vengeance. Dan moves around the seat somewhat restlessly, holding the cloth tight against his nose and Jean-Éric can feel it, the energy, the shifting air, the _presence_._ _ _ _

____The friend, the bandmate, the _lover_._ _ _ _

____It’s a warm summer night and they ride with the windows down, the breeze rippling through their hair as the van glides towards their destination. It takes all of two minutes for Dan to tire of the pregnant silence, however, and start poking at the built-in radio in an attempt to make away with it._ _ _ _

____“ _...If I could, then I would, I’ll go wherever you will go…_ ”_ _ _ _

____They don’t look at each other, but the reaction is equal and simultaneous._ _ _ _

____“Ugh!” Jean-Éric grunts, displeased but mildly amused._ _ _ _

____“Revolting!” Dan laughs, turning the dial._ _ _ _

____“...this was the long-awaited new single by sensation DJ Squire…”_ _ _ _

____“Nah,” Dan breathes out and turns the dial again._ _ _ _

____“ _...I wish he was my boyfriend, I’d love him to the very end…_ ”_ _ _ _

____Dan shoots Jean-Éric a guiltless look, and really, he couldn’t have guessed that specific song would be playing at that exact moment in Singapore of all places, but there it was, Best Coast’s Boyfriend in all of its glory wishing for boyfriends and gazing into each other’s eyes and knowing that he knows he wants to be her boyfriend and Jean-Éric just kind of feels an odd pang in his stomach at the song’s sunny disposition._ _ _ _

____“Well, _I_ hadn’t listened to this one in a while,” Dan starts casually, leaning back in his seat, “didn’t we play it live once for giggles?”_ _ _ _

____“More than once, I think, on our very first USA tour. I want to say San Diego, but-”_ _ _ _

____“Wasn’t that when you did that thing where you changed pronouns in the songs?”_ _ _ _

____“Well, yeah, so the song would be _accurate_ ,” he smiles slyly, “and then some.”_ _ _ _

____Dan shakes his head in disbelief and laughs, as if the last piece of the puzzle had just fallen into place far too many years after it should have._ _ _ _

____“Jeez, you were so obvious.”_ _ _ _

____“And you were too oblivious. I guess that evens us out.”_ _ _ _

____“I thought you were playing around. _Playing games with my heart_ , JEV.”_ _ _ _

____Jean-Éric isn’t fooled by Dan’s teasing tone._ _ _ _

____“I wasn’t, I’d never do that consciously. Well, it was playful at the beginning, just looking for ways to get you worked up because it was all about the glorious ribbing war between Daniel Ricciardo and Jean-Éric Vergne. Then I was just pretending it couldn’t possibly be what I thought it was and that I was going crazy, then I was decided I didn’t want to ruin what we had… and you know the rest, it’s history.”_ _ _ _

____“Well,” Dan grins, “good thing the rest is history. There’s something, though.”_ _ _ _

____“What?”_ _ _ _

____“We’re not boyfriends yet.”_ _ _ _

____“Well… yeah.”_ _ _ _

____This time, the silence that follows is twice as thick and thrice as significant and lasts from the remainder of the song and the twenty-minute long trip to the moment he’s at the emergency care’s waiting area while Dan is undergoing treatment and a nurse approaches him._ _ _ _

____It’s a time as good as any to mull things over._ _ _ _

____“He’ll be okay, it’s not a deep wound. The doctor will be releasing him soon.” She smiles. “He’s very talkative.”_ _ _ _

____“Has he asked about the eyepatch yet?”_ _ _ _

____“Yes,” Jean-Éric shakes his head, smiling, and even she sounds amused by having gotten such a question from a patient. “It was the first thing he asked coming into the examination room.” She raises a clipboard. “I need your help with some questions.”_ _ _ _

____“Sure,” He straightens himself in the uncomfortable chair. “Shoot.”_ _ _ _

____She starts reeling off the usual questions -- full name, address in Singapore, contact information -- and Jean-Éric’s still somewhat in an automatic mode of sorts, answers dropping from his lips as his mind is still somewhere else, twisting and turning around the earlier conversation. Sure, they’ve been in a relationship for a few months now, but in retrospect he doesn’t quite give a lot of thought to it, there isn’t a lot missing for them to actually take it to the next logical step. Maybe it’s only a technicality that’s preventing them from doing so, maybe they don’t see any reason to rush things, or maybe it’s just a label that needs to be stuck on it for validation and that’s it._ _ _ _

____Or maybe it’s the bravery that’s been so present in their lives before that’s missing._ _ _ _

____It’s always been a matter of making choices and sticking to them since the beginning, even before they were involved romantically, and certain choices had to stem from the inherent bravery they had in themselves. They could have finished their studies at UWA and gone on separate ways but they didn’t, because bravery set the spark confidence took care to expand; everything that they created together might not exist but it does, because it was bravery that made them begin to realize their ideas and talents blended perfectly together. It was bravery that made them accept there were risks and to face them full on._ _ _ _

____It was bravery, too, that caused them to grow closer; it was bravery that made Dan lead the way back in São Paulo, and it was bravery that loosened his tongue back in Montréal, and it was bravery that bound them together the way they did. It was always bravery that set everything into motion, and without it the choices they ultimately made would never have happened._ _ _ _

____Where has it gone off to now?_ _ _ _

____Alright, maybe he’s been thinking about it more deeply than he had realized._ _ _ _

____“What’s your relationship to him?”_ _ _ _

____Because see, that’s the thing. Sometimes a question like _this_ comes along, and it doesn’t make any sense to tell her Dan’s his _friend_ , it’s not that simple. He’s not just a _bandmate_ either, he might have been at one point but that’s long gone, and he’s not sure designating him as a _lover_ is true to the depth of what they have._ _

__She notices his hesitation and gives him a reassuring look._ _

__“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, this one’s optional.”_ _

__“I’d- I’d prefer not to.”_ _

__She nods to herself, clipping her pen to the board._ _

__“Don’t worry.” She smiles. “They’ll be coming out soon. Thank you for your help.”_ _

__“No problem,” Jean-Éric says, “and thank you for the updates.”_ _

__She shuffles away quietly and Jean-Éric slouches back into the seat. Anxiety pangs the pit of his stomach and he instinctively lays his hand across it, as if trying to appease it._ _

__It doesn’t go away until Dan walks out of the room, the wound properly dressed._ _

__“No eyepatch,” Dan grimaces unhappily. “The tip of the blade did get an itsy bitsy little cut on my eyelid, but the eyesight’s as good as ever.”_ _

__“Yeah, so I heard.” Jean-Éric smiles, arching an arm across Dan’s upper back to clutch him closer. “I might get you an eyepatch just so you’ll shut up about it.”_ _

__“Nah, it wouldn’t be the same.” He shrugs. “You still want to go to the party?”_ _

__“Not really, no. You’re convalescing, you need a decent night of rest for once.”_ _

__“Are you going to take care of me?”_ _

__“But of course.”_ _

__“Ooh! You’re gonna be my _nurse_!” Dan giggles and claps ecstatically while Jean-Éric pushes the jingling doors open. “Look! It’s already started!”_ _

__Really, he should have seen it coming._ _

__“Well, I’ll take care of you because I’m worried about you, and- well, because I like that. I like taking care of you,” Jean-Éric begins, climbing back into the van and quickly followed by Dan on the other side, who instantly grins at the sound of the latter sentence. “Do we need to get any medicine for you?”_ _

__It might be a diversion, yes, but maybe there’s still room for a brief bout of the old art of thinking before speaking._ _

__“Um, no. It’s just a wound, I got to keep it clean and change the bandages every few hours. He says it’ll be gone in a few days. I won’t even get a scar in the end.”_ _

__“No scar, no eyepatch, you must be terribly disappointed.”_ _

__“Yeah,” Dan says, unusually absent-minded, glancing out of the window while Jean-Éric pulls out of the driveway. “I’m an idiot, I paid the price.”_ _

__Jean-Éric shakes his head in stark disagreement._ _

__“It might have been a stupid move, but you’re not an idiot.”_ _

__“Well, thanks for the vote of confidence, JEV.”_ _

__“I wouldn’t have fallen for you if you were an idiot,” Jean-Éric points out, and then the anxious pang is back again when he glances at Dan, face bandaged, hands resting on top of his thighs, figure relaxed if somewhat judgmental of his own actions. It’s anxiety, yes, but it’s something else, there’s tenderness to it too, a swelling feeling of affection he can’t hold back. “Nor would I say what I’m about to say, you know.”_ _

__Dan turns around to face him, biting his lower lip._ _

__“What’s it?” He takes a good look at Jean-Éric’s features before continuing. “Uh. You’re very serious. Well, more than usual anyways.”_ _

__“Remember how earlier in the year you were all about joking about getting married during the tour?”_ _

__Dan raises an expectant eyebrow._ _

__“...Yeah?”_ _

__“I think- I think it’s still early for marriage but- I don’t see why we can’t be _official_.”_ _

__“ _Official_ ,” Dan repeats, rolling the word around his mouth, liking the sound and the implication behind it. “Mighty Jean-Éric Vergne actually wants to be someone’s boyfriend, is that what I’m actually hearing?”_ _

__“Not just _someone’s_ ,” Jean-Éric protests. “ _Your_ boyfriend.”_ _

__“I don’t know, I’ll have to give it some thought…”_ _

__Jean-Éric casts him a sideways glance, not exactly annoyed but still disconcerted, and Dan’s serious for only the briefest moment, unable to hide his growing happiness. He jumps up on the seat to scoot closer to Jean-Éric and kisses him on the cheek._ _

__“Of course I do, you fool,” Dan whispers into his ear. “Nothing would make me happier.”_ _

__“I can’t imagine anyone I’d rather be with,” Jean-Éric purrs, only to receive another kiss and a gentle bite to the earlobe, and he’s happy, _giddy_ like a child, like everything made complete sense. Bravery has been found again, never truly gone; it was there all along, and all it was waiting for was for the most opportune moment to surface._ _

__Bravery to them equals happiness, and they would not have it otherwise._ _


	8. Perth, pt. 3

“That has got to be the most dismal weather I’ve ever seen,” Jean-Éric complains, “and I’ve been to a lot of places during a lot of different seasons.”

It’s been raining copiously all week long, and unfortunately for anybody who had any kind of significant plans, the last day of the year turns out to be no exception, and while not a deterrent, it certainly puts a damper on the party they’re attending later.

“Come on, we can be more positive than that,” Dan chimes up from the bathroom where he’s shaving off the beard he had carefully groomed for the past weeks. “If we’re lucky enough, maybe there’s a chance it’ll stop raining right at midnight. You know what they say of years that begin with rain. Bad luck all around, all year long.”

“Is that some sort of Australian superstition you just made up?”

“Might be, might not be, you’ll have to find out for yourself.” He snickers and pauses to study his face in the mirror while Jean-Éric leans against the bathroom door. “What do you think?”

“If we were heading to a costume party tonight, then sure, I’d say go ahead.”

“Meh, you’re no fun. I should leave just one side of the moustache and that’s it.”

“Please, don’t do that,” Jean-Éric says dryly, tossing a towel in his direction which he is quick to deflect. “I don’t even know why you’re shaving, I like your beard.”

“Yeah, I do too, but it feels fitting to shave. Start the year anew.”

“Don’t tell me there’s a superstition for _that_ too.”

“There _isn’t_ , but I can make something up if that makes you happy.” Dan rolls his eyes in mock disbelief. “It’s unbelievable, you’ve been living in Australia for years and you can’t even claim to properly know our superstitions.”

“Clearly,” Jean-Éric bites the bait, approaching Dan to embrace him from behind, “it’s because I haven’t been hanging with the most knowledgeable people around.”

Things haven’t really changed since becoming _official_ , as Jean-Éric had put it, which in a way became a suitable manner to define the act; the ribbing remained mostly the same, as have the joking and the silly conversations, and the displays of affection they were already used to giving each other. So has the way they’ve always related to each other, and the level of trust and easy familiarity they’ve cultivated for years: simply enough, it’s become something authentic, established, unbreakable even.

“Good thing you’ll be around more knowledgeable people tonight, then.”

“I don’t want to be around more knowledgeable people, I want to be around _you_.” He tightens his arms and buries his head on Dan’s shoulder. “Like this.”

“You’re very adorable when you go on those lovey-dovey interludes, but if I don’t get ready soon we’ll be late, and then I just know you’ll complain I'm the reason we're late.”

“Fine, I know when I’m supposed to take my leave.” Jean-Éric pulls away, but not before giving a grinning Dan a peck on his lips.

His luggage is still laying around Dan’s apartment since he arrived from France two days ago, as it often did before; the only thing that’s actually been fully unpacked is his guitar, charmingly leaning on its stand in the small living room. He’s been picking away at it in the spare time, coming up with new ideas, thinking of new song structures; it’s the way it’s always been, the momentum breathing inspiration into his thoughts. Dan’s the usual ball of restless energy, wishing it’s time to get on the road again, but this time around Jean-Éric doesn’t mind the resting.

It’s been a long, long, _long _year.__

__“What are you going to wear?” Dan asks, poking his head around the door frame._ _

__“A nice shirt, jeans, some shoes. That’s all.”_ _

__“Wow, you’ll be like, _dressed to the nines_.” _ _

__“Don’t be snarky,” Jean-Éric chides him, sitting on one of the ancient red armchairs in the living room, picking up the guitar and sliding two fingers across the fretboard, “you’re usually dressed to the fours at best.”_ _

__“Ha ha, very funny. I just like being comfortable.”_ _

__“You like being _too_ comfortable, that’s the problem.”_ _

__“If I wanted to be _too_ comfortable I’d attend in my pajamas. Or in my underwear.”_ _

__“Or _naked_ , if I know you, which would certainly be pleasing to the eye-”_ _

__“You wanna see me naked, JEV?” Dan teasingly asks, fingers pinching the sides of his underwear as he shakes his hips. “You should have said so!”_ _

__Jean-Éric laughs, rolling his eyes._ _

__“Well, I do, but not _right now_. If you hadn’t interrupted me, I was going to say it’d certainly be pleasing to the eye, but that I don’t want you parading around in the nude, and not just because it’s not socially acceptable to do so.”_ _

__“Oh, no,” Dan begins, jokingly enthusing, “it’s time for a _jealous_ interlude!”_ _

__“I’m not jealous!” he protests. “Okay, maybe I am… just a little bit.”_ _

__“You needn’t be,” Dan assures him, plopping down on the other armchair._ _

__There’s a brief silence while Dan stretches his legs with a sigh and Jean-Éric tickles the guitar strings, low plinking sounds coming out of the improvised overture. He casts a sideways glance at Dan once he finishes it._ _

__“Dan…”_ _

__“What’s it?”_ _

__“Thank you.”_ _

__Dan gives him a confused look._ _

__“What for?”_ _

__“For all that we’ve been through this year.”_ _

__“Well…” It’s Dan’s turn to blush. “It wouldn’t have been the same if it weren’t you, from day one. And day one from when we started talking, I mean. I’m glad this is the way things turned out to be in the end. Years have gone by and we've managed to not hate each other in the end.”_ _

__“It’s been... a natural progression, really.”_ _

__“More than that, it’s been an _adventure_ , with all the bumps and detours and rewards you’re bound to find in one,” Dan beams, “and it’s one that I hope won’t end anytime soon!” He pauses briefly, his eyes mellow as if his heart has completely behind that statement. “Hey, you know what I think we should do?”_ _

__“ _Right now_?”_ _

__“Don’t give me that look, I’m not thinking about _that_ ,” he protests, and Jean-Éric giggles, knowing that’s stemming from the suggestive face he must have made. “I think we should play one last time this year, right here, right now.”_ _

__“To send out the year in style?”_ _

__“That’s it, that’s _exactly_ the spirit,” Dan points at him, urgently getting up and snatching the drumsticks resting over the snare drum while Jean-Éric is quickly plugging the guitar into the small amplifier nearby and silently thanking that the room’s soundproofed after one too many complaints. “You ready?”_ _

__Jean-Éric nods and Dan slams the sticks against each other three times._ _

__It sounds like thunder when he drums, like a long rumble of continuous thunder that fits through the rain that’s falling outside and around the razor sharp riff he sends ripping through it like lightning, and Jean-Éric’s realizes right there and then that he’s never going to tire of it. He’s never going to tire of that exchange, he’s never going to stop enjoying the mutual devotion to everything they love, be it music or each other._ _

__It doesn’t matter there’s cold and pissing rain outside, but Jean-Éric knows he’ll take Dan’s hand on that night and on the many more that are to come; it doesn’t matter that the terrain they tread on is not quite the most stable, but they’re wary enough to know whatever needs to be overcome will, as it always has._ _

__Dan drums on fiercely, foreseeing the fireworks, foreseeing a year that promises even more than this year has brought them; Jean-Éric strums his strings willingly, making the momentum, making the force that pushes them ahead._ _

__Together, they press on._ _

__They never stop pressing on._ _

____

**\--the end--**


End file.
